


Sexual Healing

by Wooingsan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Angst, Body Worship, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom Choi San, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Erotica, Fetish Clothing, Frottage, Implied Sexual Content, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Cock Stepping, Mentions of Unconsciousness, Non-traditional Dom/Sub, Not non-con, Psychologist!San, Sex Addict!Wooyoung, Sex Toys, Strip Tease, Sub Jung Wooyoung, Vibrators, Woosan, hella dirty talk, mentions of sadism, sexology, who knew amiright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wooingsan/pseuds/Wooingsan
Summary: Unspeaking, San watches as Wooyoung’s breathing slows, waiting until he calms down and leans back against the couch. Wooyoung took the scrunchie off his wrist, short hair falling across his brow as he did so. He played with the velvety elastic, tugging it between his fingers, stretching it out fully before letting it snap back into a tight, puckered circle. He smiled at his hands.“That’s not too much to ask, is it, Doctor? I bet you’ve made less money to do a lot more work than that.”ORSan is a sex therapist with good boundaries, but Wooyoung can’t get off alone.
Relationships: Choi San & Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 110
Kudos: 437





	1. Session I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO MY SECOND FAN FIC OF ALL TIME!
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who read and commented on :: Cheek Kisses :: ! You all gave me the strength to try writing another one.
> 
> Please heed the tag "Hella Dirty Talk". Because, well, that's exactly what this is.
> 
> *December 2020 Note: I have cleaned up some of the original inconsistencies in tense. If it looks different, that may be why.

San was filling his mug with dirty coffee when he first heard about Jung Wooyoung. He was standing in the communal kitchen of the counseling center, carefully pouring above the sink in case any should splash over the edge. 

“...There are some things you need to know about this client, San.”

Park Seonghwa, his boss and the clinical supervisor, was standing awkwardly in the doorway. San glanced at his hands, tightly wrung together, before returning to the waterfall of grounds. He listened with only mild interest.

“He’s been here before. Actually, he’s been everywhere within a three hour radius, before.” Seonghwa fiddled with his watch. “He’s seen a few different sexologists here, and he didn’t even last two visits before they referred him elsewhere. Most offices won’t even consider seeing him anymore. But he isn’t the one that leaves, it’s always the therapists that end their services. They can’t handle him. He got some of them fired for indecent behaviour. Others voided their paperwork because he got into their heads,” Seongwha conceded nervously. “He’s an enigma, San, and you’re the new kid in town.”

San leaned a hip against the counter lazily, blowing across the steam so it wouldn’t burn his tongue. He didn’t know why he drank coffee anyways. It never did anything for him.

“I don’t know how he found out about you, but don’t worry. You can say no - you don’t even have to meet him,” Seonghwa added.

Processing, San took a sip. He underestimated the temperature, jolting back when it bit his sensitive lips. “Mm. So what’s his name?”

“Jung Wooyoung.” Seonghwa looked concerned. “You don’t have to take him on to prove yourself. We hired you because we know your reputation. Your references made it clear to us that you uphold the strictest personal boundaries. There’s no need to bring on a client like this. No one will fault you when we just can’t give the kind of help he needs - at least not without the expense of our own sanity.”

Sighing, San dumped the rest of the mug into the sink untouched. “I’m not intimidated, Seonghwa-ssi. There’s a reason I got into this field.” He started to move towards the door.

“Okay, okay,” Seonghwa pleaded, shaking his head. “Just promise me one thing.”

San stopped in front of Seonghwa’s stern, desperate eyes. 

“Promise me that you will let me know if you need help, and promise me you will let him go if you can’t handle him,” Seonghwa said firmly. “We don’t want to lose you so soon. More importantly, you wouldn’t want to end your professional career so soon, San.” San could feel the unspoken waver in his words.

San looked at him blankly, unaffected by the doubt lacing his tone. San knew himself, and he knew himself well. 

“I promise.”

.:.:.:.

Even as he walked through the door in a basic pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, San could recognize that Wooyoung was a beautiful man. 

San noticed the worn-in converse on his feet, the choker around his neck, and the soft, velvety pink scrunchie he wore around his wrist as Wooyoung moved to the couch unspeaking. A small smile played on his lips, his gaze on the ground. San watched him glide across the hardwood floor almost soundlessly until he stopped in front of the center square of the long leather couch, the tufts glinting in the dimmed lighting. Wooyoung’s scent continued drifting across the room even as his body stilled, the zest of citrus fruit wafting into his mouth, licked up by a layer of soft, sweet rose water. San welcomed it in. As Wooyoung stood looking down at the leather, San slowly rotated side to side in his chair, pen rolling between his thumb and forefinger.

Wooyoung turned around abruptly, gracefully sitting on the cushion, clasping his hands and knees together and lifting his gaze to meet Dr. Choi San head on.

San stopped moving. 

Just as he opened his mouth to speak Wooyoung cut him off. “Hello, Doctor Choi San. I expect you’ve heard all about me, so let’s skip the formalities. We won’t be needing them,” he smirked. “I’m sure they’ve told you all kinds of things, and I’m sure they’re all mostly true. But it’s better to hear the truth from my own lips, hmm?” Wooyoung purred, tilting his head. San closed his mouth and opened the folder sitting on his polished wooden desk.

Wooyoung’s lips remained upturned as he started. 

“I’ve been around the block, Doctor. I’ve read all the textbooks and I’ve seen all the therapists. I know what the goal of sex therapy is. I’ve heard it time and time again. So why is it that when I actually find a way to practice the safe, fulfilling sex life of my dreams, my therapists can’t stick around to support me, hmm?” Wooyoung tilted his head in the opposite direction. 

“You see Doctor, I’m addicted to sex. It’s all I think about. But I can’t get off alone,” he smirked. “I’ve tried jacking off to everything - while watching explicit and sometimes illegal porn, reading slutty novels for housewives in unfulfilled marriages, dialing phone sex hotlines in dirty bathroom stalls, and even hosting my own camboy channel,” he laughed dryly, “but none of it works. I need real eyes on me.”

Wooyoung looked at San expectantly. “But I’m a submissive, Doctor, and you know what that means. That means I’m always made powerless. It’s always my body that’s left squirming, my balls that turn blue. It’s always their spit in my asshole.”

Wooyoung licked his lips. “It’s starting to get old, Doctor. So now all I want is to pleasure myself. But I’ve dabbled in the arts and I’ve earned my B.D. in S&M. My inner exhibitionist needs to be watched, and needs someone to appreciate me and to appreciate me well - not just jack off to the sight of a nameless hot body. But I don’t want to be touched. It’s not a big deal, so don’t try to diagnose me. I just don’t want a partner, and I don’t want to go display myself at some sleazy club where anyone could fondle my ass or follow me home.” 

Wooyoung stopped speaking. San paused his note-taking to look up and was frozen by the look he found.

“I bet you must get horny as hell listening to people talk about sex all day, _Doctor_ , although I’ve heard you’re so professional. But even professionals have to release themselves sometimes, hmm? So think about it this way,” Wooyoung leaned in, elbows crossed over his knees. “Rather than paying to go beat your meat at a third-rate strip club, I’ll pay you to watch me live out my fantasies. You’ll watch me jerk off, and you’ll watch me well. You’ll appreciate me taking my dick in my own hand, and you’ll appreciate my O face when I finally, finally get off. Because isn’t that what this is all about, Doctor Choi? Sexual healing?” Wooyoung smiled cheekily, tongue tapping against one of his canines.

San hadn’t put his pen back to the paper yet.

“I bet you’re a total dom, aren’t you _sir_. But I make the rules in this relationship. If I tell you not to touch yourself, you can’t. And you can’t ever fucking touch me,” he exhaled, pupils blown. “That’s what I’m here for, Doctor. I need you to sit there, powerless, so I can fucking _cum_.”

Still unspeaking, San watched as Wooyoung’s breathing slowed, waiting until he calmed down and leaned back against the couch. Wooyoung took the scrunchie off his wrist, short hair falling across his brow as he did so. He played with the velvety elastic, tugging it between his fingers, stretching it out fully before letting it snap back into a tight, puckered circle. He smiled at his hands.

“That’s not too much to ask, is it, Doctor? I bet you’ve made less money to do a lot more work than that.” 

Wooyoung held the scrunchie between two fingers, pulling back with the other hand to launch it into the arm at one end of the couch. The release was accompanied by a flirty face and a soft shooting noise. He continued to play for a while while San watched him. He quieted for a moment, turning his body to square off with San’s, leaving the scrunchie in a clenched pink ring at the end of the leather. San had to drag his eyes away from it. 

When he did he met Wooyoung’s cold, cold grin, lips curling up at the corners. “Oh, we’re a great match, Doctor. I can already tell.” Wooyoung cocked his head, prompting San to speak for the first time.

San needed to clear his dry throat before speaking. “Thank you for the very clear explanation, Wooyoung-ssi. Since you’re already here, would you be open to having a mini session now? That way we can decide if this is going to work. I don’t want to make you drive all the way back if this isn’t a good fit.” 

Wooyoung practically squealed in delight. “Oh, Doctor Choi, I would be absolutely delighted.” 

“I know you have experience with a number of other therapists. Why don’t you start by telling me what type of process you’ve found most beneficial during your sessions?” San finally put his pen back to the paper.

“Oh, that’s easy Doctor. I told you, I make less work for you. I’ll do all the talking, and you have to do nothing at all. I promise you’ll like it,” Wooyoung said, hands starting to wander under his black, worn down hoodie. As they rose further up his chest the fabric was pulled with it, revealing a sliver of toned, even skin. “Just don’t take your eyes off me.”

San gave up on the folder.

“Each session, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about. That’s not unlike your normal sessions, right? I’ll tell you my daydreams, and I’ll touch myself. You’ll listen like the good therapist you are and we’ll meet our mutual goal of helping me achieve a safe, pleasurable sex life the only way I can.”

His hands lowered to his crotch, swiftly undoing the clasps. Wooyoung pivoted his body into the corner of the couch, crushing the long forgotten scrunchie. Feet still on the floor, he lifted his hips to slide his jeans down to his knees. He was wearing pink, semi-sheer boxers, a sharp contrast to the grungy hoodie covering his torso. They shimmered in the dim glow of the room, highlighting his contours. San could see the divots in his hip bones, blending into the curvature of his thick, round bulges. Wooyoung spread his knees as far as the jeans would let him, giving himself room to play. He hovered his fingers above the convex mounds of his perky balls, flirting them up and over the long line of his penis, until lightly coming to trace the crest of the fabric, pulled taught and gaping across his defined hips. He never took his eyes off San. 

“Let me give you an example, Doctor Choi. Right now I’m imagining what it would be like to join you here during your work hours,” he purred, fingers splaying out and drawing semi-circles across the terrain of his pelvis. 

San listened.

“I would come in the afternoon, just after you’ve finished the third shitty cup of coffee one of your coworkers made. When you get back to your desk, I’ll be under it. You’ll sit down in your chair, fifteen minutes before your next appointment, and you’ll roll right up and under the ledge. Lucky for me, your shiny lacquered desk isn’t open at the front. Lucky for you, it looks pretty solid too. It would block most of the sounds I would try so hard not to make when I pulled down your zipper, excited by the sight of your clothed cock hardening under my gaze. You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m a very viscous guy. My body produces a lot of saliva, a lot of lube, and a whole lotta cum. So I’ll use that gift to my advantage.” Wooyoung rolled back the edge of his underwear to reveal his bulbous tip, red and juicy. His fingers began massaging it, circling the crest, before his thumb dipped into the dripping hole. Wooyoung’s face scrunched as he threw his head back, thighs tensing and trying to open further, stopped by the stiff fabric of his jeans. San could see his lips glisten as he swallowed, mouth so full of drool that some dribbled out the corner in the process. He reopened his eyes.

“I’ll lick you through the rough fabric until you’re fully hard, Doctor. I’ll make it so wet your dick begins to chafe, and you can’t help but push your hips into my face. There will be just enough time left for me to slip the front of your underwear down under your big, hot balls, holding them in place while I take your cock in my mouth in one go. And then the door to your office will open, and in waltzes your favorite two o-clock, the woman who’s unhappy with her husband who only fucks her when it’s dark, in missionary no less. And while you listen to her bitch, nodding your head and drawing doodles in the margins, I’ll be warming your cock with my mouth. When she gets to the really spicy bits, you know, the ones where she talks about it all probably stemming from his deep-seated mommy issues, I’ll hum in agreement. Oh, and you’ll feel it - my throat vibrating and clenching tighter than the fleshlight I’m sure sleeps in your bedside table at home.” Wooyoung shimmied his underwear lower, giving himself a full range of motion. He swooped up a glob of his copious precum with his thumb, spreading it down his length. San noticed a light coat of stubble snuggling around the base. Somehow he knew that it would feel like sandpaper, or a cat’s tongue. 

San didn’t notice his own pulse start to quicken, however.

Wooyoung loosely pumped himself with one hand, the other coming to fondle his balls. He juggled them between his fingers, enjoying the bounce he’d been aching to feel for so long. 

Wooyoung’s voice was strained as he continued. “When she gets louder and more emotional I’ll start to move again, licking and sucking you down until I can feel your dick move on its own, and then I’ll pull off. And I’ll keep you like that, edging you until the door clicks shut, when you’ll no doubt fist into my hair and hold me still, fucking into my mouth. You don’t know this yet either, but I like that. I like a little pain with my pleasure.” Wooyoung gripped himself tighter. “It won’t take much though, since I’ve kept you so damn close for so long, until you cum into my mouth, salty and sweet, maybe tasting like the pineapple you ate for breakfast. Would you do that for me, make yourself sweeter on purpose? I bet you would, you big softie.” Wooyoung cut himself off to change positions. He released his balls and used the hand to pull his sweatshirt up, revealing one of his pert brown nipples. When he pinched it for the first time a quick breathy moan left him. Gathering himself, he finds a balance between twisting his nipple and continuing to stroke his very pleased member.

“And that’s how I’ll survive - living off a diet of your sweet and sour juices until the end of the day. What are your hours, eleven to seven? Okay. At six fifty-five you put down your pen, telling your client that this has been another titillating session and you can’t wait for the next. I’ll look up at you through my lashes, nose now permanently living in the pretty, curly hair living at the bottom of your cock. I’ve kept you thoroughly warmed all day, and my throat is sore and raw and I won’t be able to speak for the next three days but who cares, amiright? So I’ll wait for permission to move again like the good little sub that I am. But instead of words, you’ll give me your hand around my neck, pulling me off of you roughly. Just that is enough to get me to cum, since I haven’t touched myself all day. I’ll cum in my pants and you’ll punish me. You’ll bend me over your glossy wooden desk and you’ll fuck me.”

San does notice when his own body starts to tingle. He notices, and he panics. He’s a good therapist with good boundaries. He’s not supposed to feel anything. He never has before. 

At this point Wooyoung was stroking himself hard and fast, wet noises slurping out from under his slick fingers. He was mixing small sounds in with his breath, light “huhh-huhs” growing steadily higher-pitched. He glanced over toward San, grinning when he catches him staring, enrapt. 

“Yes, you’ll fuck me Choi San. You’ll fuck me hard and fast until I cum again, all over your useless folders. You’ll have me bent over, one hand pushing me down and the other yanking me up by my hair, my ass on full display for your viewing pleasure. Oh yes it would be pleasurable, Doctor. I can tell you’re a butt guy - good man. You would fuck me raw with so little prep time and it would hurt so good, so good so goodsogoodsogood-” Wooyoung plunged his teeth into his lower lip and threw himself back into the couch, hand rapidly jerking as pearly cum exploded all the way up his chest. 

Wooyoung was right - San was impressed by how much cum came out of Jung Wooyoung’s pretty body. Unfortunately his intrigue was quickly overtaken by horror when he felt his own pelvic muscles rapidly twitching to life. He almost didn’t recognize the feeling.

The room went silent save for Wooyoung’s labored breathing. He was laying with his head thrown over the arm of the couch, eyes closed and taking in the sensation of long-awaited release. One cum-covered hand rested curled onto his stomach, the other limply at his side. 

San didn’t know what to say. 

After a moment Wooyoung opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He raised his hand to block out the low light overhead, tendrils of sticky white collecting to drip off his fingertips. He flipped his hand back and forth slowly, admiring the product of his release rolling down his forearms, looking almost like veins. Wooyoung smiled.

“So, Doctor, are we continuing these sessions?”

San looked at him, dumbfounded. 

When he didn’t answer, Wooyoung looked in his direction, arm drooping slightly. A flash of worry passed over his face, but San couldn’t tell if it was worry for him or worry he wouldn’t say yes. 

Wooyoung lowered his arm to his stomach, scooping up the lingering cum with his palm. He pushed himself upright with his free hand, the other coming up to eye level. Wooyoung captured the quickest rolling beads with his tongue, licking trails over his skin until he was clean. 

Sucking off the tips of his fingers, Wooyoung asked, “I think it was a rather successful session, don’t you? I certainly achieved all my goals, at least. And isn’t that what this is all about?” He pulled his last finger out with a pop. “You’re a good listener, Doctor Choi. I would like to come see you again,” he praised, hoping it would tip the scales in his favor. He got up, tucking himself back into his pants and moved to stand in front of San’s desk. Calmly, he moved his slightly sticky hand to the forgotten folder. Dragging it between them, he said, “Can we sign this, Doctor?” 

Wordlessly, San handed Wooyoung the pen. 

Face alight, Wooyoung took it gingerly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. San passed him the agreement, signing it after Wooyoung. 

He closed the folder, capped his pen, and folded his hands on top of it. 

Grinning brightly, Wooyoung practically skipped to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he called back, “See you this time next week~,” before blowing a kiss sweetly and closing the door behind him. 

San stared at the door a full five minutes after Wooyoung left, wondering if someone was going to come in and ask him how it went, or come fire him. He thought they would somehow know that he failed - that Wooyoung got a rise out of him, that for the first time in his career he was aroused by a patient. Wooyoung was going to challenge every fiber of his identity as a trustworthy sex therapist. Wooyoung was a bad idea.

And yet, somehow, Wooyoung made him feel something when no one else had.

When the door remained closed he turned to start filing Wooyoung’s papers away, but got distracted by a hint of pink poking out from where it was crushed into the couch. San got up to rescue it from between the arm and the cushion, pulling it out with a snap. He held it in his hand, fingers teasing it open like Wooyoung had done. He finally realized what it reminds him of. He felt himself grow in his pants. When he looked down and saw the tent he had made, San was once again dumbfounded. 

He hesitated. 

He hesitated for just a few seconds before roughly yanking down the zipper of his slacks and pulling out his long, veiny dick, collapsing back onto the couch still warm from Wooyoung’s body. Already hard, he slipped the soft, pink scrunchie around his length, grasping it brusquely, using it to pull fast strokes. He didn’t care that he was rubbing himself dry when the velvet was so soft and he could still smell Wooyoung’s fragrance in the air, could imagine the pink, puckered accessory as something else. Something completely off-limits. San came quickly, careful not to get a drop on his new toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we okay? Do we need a breather?  
> Let me know in the comments or at [@wooingsan](https://twitter.com/wooingsan) on Twitter!  
>  _That's not too much to ask, is it, Doctor?_  
> 


	2. Session II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San reflects. Wooyoung comes straight from work.

San chose to study sexology because he doesn't get aroused. At one point he even thought he might be asexual. 

He hadn’t been the usual horny teenager, jerking off in the bathroom at the sight of some cleavage. Wooyoung was right about that at least - he definitely _wasn’t_ a boob guy. He’d only woken up with morning wood a few times before, and he didn’t find much joy in taking care of it. He had more important things to worry about.

San’s parents expected the same things most did in South Korea; filial piety, exceptional grades, and a lucrative career. As he grew up he realized he wasn’t going to be able to give them the first. He was never going to have a traditional family structure, or probably even a steady partner. However, he decided he could at least use his perceived weakness to achieve the latter two by supporting those who also experienced "unfulfilling" or alternative sexual states, even if he didn’t know what “fulfillment” could feel like. 

San was thirteen when he first saw porn. He was neither excited nor repulsed - he just didn’t feel anything. The other boys were crowded around the desk in front of him during a break between periods. They were loud and rowdy, interrupting San’s concentration on his extra credit assignment. One of them grabbed the dirty magazine off the desk and shoved its open pages in front of San’s face, asking him which nude body he preferred - the man on the right or the woman on the left? The models’ lewd expressions and explicit acts meant nothing to him. He looked back and forth between the two, waiting for something to jump out. It didn’t. He tried to return back to his assignment. When the boys pressed him to answer, he blandly picked, “the one on the right”. They giggled, satisfied, and clustered around it again, flipping through more skin-on-skin content. 

San never had a real crush. Sometimes he thought he might like someone that was nice to him, or someone who had the same interests, but he never developed romantic feelings or wanted to do more than talk or play together. It was nice, really, moving through the world without intense sexual urges or pressure to make decisions based on someone who might not actually care about you. It was also nice when his friends started coming to him for advice, even knowing full-well that San didn’t have any of the physical experience. He liked being useful and unaffected - it became his identity. He could speak to something in a way no one else could, and people trusted that he wasn’t using their secrets to steal anyone else’s crush. 

That’s why he decided to become a sex therapist. He could provide a truly unbiased perspective and maintain the utmost professional boundaries, listening intently without getting emotionally involved. A patient’s dream. 

San sat at his desk, pink scrunchie snapped around his base like the world’s softest cock ring, dark slacks hiding any evidence of anomaly. He worked through an entire day of appointments. No one noticed him crossing and re-crossing his legs frequently, rubbing his thighs together to feel the caress of fuzzy fabric.

Wooyoung was his last appointment of the day. San usually worked into the early evening to accommodate people who needed to make appointments after work. He wasn’t sure what Wooyoung did for a living, but he had requested the final time slot of the day. And he was late. 

San had intentionally cut his last appointment a few minutes short, giving him ample time to rearrange the papers on his desk and check the position of the scrunchie in the single-stall bathroom mirror. But now fifteen minutes had passed. He was sitting with his chin propped up on his hands, staring at the clock above the door. Seonghwa had told him that Wooyoung never lasted more than two sessions per therapist, but they hadn’t hit that yet. Plus, he said Wooyoung was never the one to call it off. 

Five more minutes passed before San stood up, starting to gather his carefully ruffled papers. At that moment the door flew open and in strutted Jung Wooyoung. He was wearing an oversized white shirt just long enough to cover his bubble butt and most of his front as well. His hair was loose and fluffy around his face, accentuating the heavy eyeliner and rosy pink hue on his lips. There were accessories everywhere; three chokers, rings on nearly every finger and ears filled with gemstones, alongside a leather studded purse. He topped it off with leather pants so tight San wondered if Wooyoung had to lube his entire lower body just to get them on.

He was absolutely glowing. Inhaling the waft of Wooyoung’s signature scent, San looked him up and down, paused in the process of gathering his materials. 

Running a hand through his hair, Wooyoung greeted him. “Hello, Doctor. Aren’t you going to sit down? We don’t have much time since I’m a little late.” Wooyoung plopped down on the couch and brought his bag to his lap. He started rummaging around his purse, ‘ah hah’-ing when he found a small jewelry container in the bottom. He put it on the table and started pulling off his many accessories, looking back up at San. “Oh? Are we doing a standing session today? Uncouth, but I could adapt.” San quickly sat back down, clearing his throat and crossing his legs together. Yes, the scrunchie was still there.

“So Doctor, last time I told you I tried solving my problem as a camboy, right? Well it didn’t fix that issue but it does pay the bills. Who knew how many men would be willing to send money to a nameless body. Oh, and the presents. I could make a baby registry just to get some new shoes, and no one would even question it. That’s why I’m late - I just came from a session. Leather pants are hot but man I’m really sweating in here. Do you mind if I take them off? It’s better to be comfortable when you talk about your problems, right?” He threw his shoes aside quickly, dropping his bag on the reflective coffee table in front of him. Foregoing the rest of his jewelry, Wooyoung lifted his hips off the couch and undid his zipper quickly, the rough sound echoing around the room. He had to shimmy against the couch to inch them lower, baggy shirt retaining modesty. When he brought his feet up onto the table San caught a glimpse of what was about to happen. Wooyoung arched his entire body up, supported by his shoulder blades on the back of the couch and the tips of his toes on the edge of the coffee table. The table isn't as sturdy as it looks, and just as Wooyoung leveraged his weight to strip off his pants, the platform tipped and everything on it spilled to the ground, quickly followed by Wooyoung, who lost his balance and slid down into the couch, knees spread eagle, leather trapped around his ankles. 

San couldn’t breathe.

Under those tight, tight leather pants lived a pair of sheer white stockings. As Wooyoung pushed himself back into a seated position, his billowing shirt shifted to reveal the thinnest white garter belt stretching up Wooyoung’s voluptuous thighs to the top of a white, lacey thong. It barely covered his curled cock, the soft pink edges spilling out the sides. From San’s direct view, he could see the string of the thong captured in between Wooyoung’s round balls before sliding up and under his ass. “Oops,” Wooyoung quipped as he leaned forward to pop the pants off from around his ankles. “Sorry about all that, Doctor, but I feel better already.” 

Wooyoung sits in the same place all of his other clients sat earlier today, looking at him with stocking-covered thighs spread wide. San vows not to look anywhere but his eyes. 

Wooyoung felt the challenge. He taps his tongue against his teeth before pulling his thong aside, sliding a finger into his asshole easily. 

San looked down.

“Fortunately my job got me all prepped and ready for you.” 

His palm covered the act, but San could still hear it. Using one hand to leverage himself, Wooyoung continued to slide his fingers into his ass slowly, eliciting long squelching sounds. “I told you I’m a wet boy. I used lube for my video, but I didn’t need it. The viewers just like to imagine me tasting like strawberries.” Wooyoung shifted and his shirt came down to cover his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry Doctor, is this blocking your view? Let me take it off for you.” Wooyoung removed his sticky fingers and grabbed his shirt at opposite sides, pulling it up and over his head in one swift motion.

The expanse of white lace didn’t stop at Wooyoung’s thong. It attached up and onto an elaborate garter system, connecting to lace panels mimicking a corset, opening back up to spider around Wooyoung’s shoulders, leaving his chest and brown nipples in full view. 

“I was thinking about you in the shower today, Doctor. About what thoughts I wanted to share with you.” Instead of tossing his shirt to the side he gave San a tease. He twisted it up in his hands and looked at San out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s replay this morning, shall we?” Wooyoung started rubbing the shirt across the back of his neck like a towel before working it down and over each nipple independently. His back arched, soft breaths pulled from his throat as he lightly flossed the shirt up and down each bud. “I touch myself in the shower. I clean myself up and make sure I stay pretty. My loyal viewers deserve a good show, you know?” He balled the shirt up and ran it over the planes of his body like a loofah. “And sometimes I daydream. Steam and bubbles can put you in just the right headspace, y'know?”

San listened intently. 

Wooyoung put a foot back on the table, firmly anchoring it in the center this time. He continued to move the makeshift sponge down the contours of his body, opening himself up. His hand moved lower until he was finally circling overtop the thong, palming himself with the white shirt. “I thought about you. I thought about you being a butt guy. But you know what else butt guys usually are?” he asked, slowly withdrawing the cloth from his genitals. 

“They’re thigh guys.” He started massaging circles into the valley between his pelvis and leg. “I know you’d worship my thighs. They’re taut and soft, thick and shapely. Oh, and they’re powerful. I could crush you with these thighs,” he laughed, tracing the white lump as far as he could reach along his leg before pulling it back up the inside. As he traveled across his pelvis to get to the other side, Wooyoung's eyes fluttered closed and he gasped airily. He got caught up in himself, shirt tightly rotating on top of his underwear. San had been tracking the moves of the fabric intently, missing the gradual engorgement of Wooyoung’s penis. He could now see almost every inch of Wooyoung’s cock. The pink member had gone red, and the soft, curved tip had completely emerged out from the top of the thong. His balls had lifted and swelled, filled with hot seed. The useless white lace only served to contrast the dark hue of his arousal. San’s gaze lingered there as Wooyoung finally continued down the other side.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, _daddy_. I bet you would love to get crushed by these thighs - your face up in between them, tongue out and trying to lick my asshole like the good Dom you are. So nice of you to try to prep me before you fuck me. But you’re not fast enough, or maybe you were just pretending. So my thighs close on your face, pressing into your cheeks and temples. They’re so big you can’t breathe. Your hands come up around them but not to pull them apart, no. You push them together even more. Oh, I know you, Doctor. Even when you can’t breathe it’s not enough. You try to lick them instead, mouth worshiping anywhere in your reach. And then you bite down and start to suck hickies there, purple and blue and-fuck-” He gets cut off, distracted again by his own sensitive cock. He started to thrust up into the shirt but changed his mind, throwing it across the room and onto San’s desk. It landed near the corner in a heap, Wooyoung’s distict scent wafting off it in waves, citrus and rose now merged with the flavor of sex. San’s own penis throbbed against the scrunchie in automatic response. He chokes on his spit.

Wooyoung got up on his knees and sat back, muscles of his thighs splayed out and preening. 

San watched him.

“And I’d crush you with these thighs. I’d do it right here on this couch.” Wooyoung moved the thong to the side, slipping it under his cock to put himself on full display. He leaned forward to press both hands on the edge of the couch, angling his hips downward. Then, he started humping the leather cushion underneath him. “When you came up gasping for air I’d stick my cock in your mouth and use it to choke you too. I’d use these hands and hold the back of your neck,” he illustrated, gripping the couch tightly, “and I’d thrust my hips in your face. All your favorite parts of my body cutting off your oxygen, you’d be so close to cumming. I’d fuck your face and squeeze your neck and you’d pass out from lack of airflow. You’d fall back and hit your head on the table but I wouldn’t care - I’d get off this couch and keep fucking your throat. Oh, but then I’d realize that you never got to cum, and your big veiny dick just looks so good Doctor, I can tell.” Wooyoung stopped pistoning his hips into the cushion to get up and swing one leg over the edge of the sofa, back now facing San, member pressed into the arm of the couch. San took in the sight of his full ass. He watched as it jiggled when Wooyoung moved quickly, and watched it splay out on the arm as Wooyoung leaned into it. It was completely on display, nothing but the white g-string to interrupt his view. He could see the puckered edges of Wooyoung’s pink anus, fluttering as he clenched it. The tension in San’s abdomen grew tauter. He added it to his list of things to ignore, right after the fragrant white t-shirt.

“So I’d sit on it.” Wooyoung twisted around, making sure San was still watching him as he started to grind into the arm of the couch. He slid the white string aside and revealed the most perfect asshole San has ever seen. Seeing the breath catch in San’s throat, Wooyoung started to play with it. He smacked one of his asscheeks, the ripple bouncing through his supple hips. He dug his nails into the smooth skin, scratching thin red lines on white canvas. San had to uncross his legs. 

Wooyoung smirked, finally pushing a finger back in.

“I’d sit on it,” he repeated. “I’d rock myself on it, lifting off and on,” he said, using his finger to illustrate. “I’d roll my hips all the way to the hilt. Lucky for me, I bet that big boy cock would hit me just right, without even trying.” Wooyoung added another finger to the party. He threw his head back, sweat starting to glisten around his temples. He gave up turning around, using the hand not attacking his ass to fully support himself on the couch. This allowed him to practically lay against the arm, legs spreading wider. Rutting into the smooth leather arm, two fingers deep in his slick, squelching asshole he continued, “And your cock would respond to me even if the rest of you couldn’t. Your body is so devoted to mine that it would reciprocate even when the rest of you was unconscious.” He added a third finger with a hiss at the slight burn of the stretch. “And I love that feeling - a rod of steaming meat licking the inside of my cunt.” He started thrusting in harder and faster, the rapid movement jiggling the copious flesh of his ass. Wooyoung stopped talking to get into his rhythm, fingers plunging in time with the draw of his hips, cock crushed under him into the now hot, sweaty leather. “You’re such a slut for me. I’d roll myself onto you and that’s all it would take before you’re cumming. I’d let you cum inside me because your dick was so good, even if the rest of you couldn’t keep up. I’d even stay like that for a while - your cock plugging up my hole. I bet you’d cry if you could see yourself blanketed in your own spunk and stuck up inside my cunt. I bet that’s your wet dream, isn’t it Doctor?” Wooyoung looked over his shoulder as he continued to thrust into himself. He wasn’t expecting to see San’s gaze so hungry, vein tensed in his neck as he tried to remain emotionless. Wooyoung’s eyes widened, taking in the sight. He started fucking himself faster, staring into San’s face, panting. Neither could look away. 

San couldn’t process how turned on he was. He was agonizing against his pants, balls tensed up and ready to unload. He took in the sight of Wooyoung’s lingerie-clad body humping his couch, burning the image into his mind. He was entranced.

Jaw slack and voice edging on desperate, Wooyoung said, “I wish these fingers were actually your cock, Doctor.” 

San clenched his jaw and a low, grizzled sound vibrated out of his chest. Wooyoung liked it, so he came.

He wasn’t expecting the sound to put him over the edge but it did. Wooyoung didn’t even have enough time to rescue his crushed cock from where it was suffocated under his stomach. He came hard and fast with high-pitched moans, fingers rubbing circles into his prostate to lead him through it. Spent, he slumped onto the arm, resting his head on his hands for a few short moments. San observed a dribble of clear liquid leak out of Wooyoung's now puffy hole, rolling until it dripped onto the leather.

Eyes closed, Wooyoung breathed out the rest of his fantasy. “And as I got up to leave, I would step on you. I’d grind my toes into your used dick, smearing half-cold cum across your body so you’d wake up to it flaking off. And I’d step those same toes onto your cheek, then your throat, reminding you who’s in charge. When you wake up you won’t remember your name.”

Wooyoung quieted, his breathing the only sound in the room. San continued to stalk the clear bead melting under Wooyoung’s worn asshole.

A few minutes later, Wooyoung pushed himself up, stretching like a cat woken up from a nap and glanced at the clock over the door. “Ah! Perfect timing Doctor. I’m glad we got right to it today,” he purred. 

He detached from the couch and started gathering the items strewn about the floor. He slid the g-string back into the cleft of his ass before slipping into his impossibly tight pants, looking like a professional stripper, the top of his lacey white lingerie teasingly soft when paired with the aggression of those leather bottoms. Wooyoung searched for everything that had fallen, most of it having gathered under the couch. As he stretched his arm underneath it, his butt popped up into sight. It was rocking back and forth as he reached, booty mapping abstract shapes in the air. San considered retaking geometry.

Checking his bag and looking around one last time, Wooyoung finally came over to stand at the corner of the desk, looking at his crumpled white T-shirt. San said nothing, but grabbed a stray pen to spin it between his fingers. 

Wooyoung sweetly asked, “Well, Doctor? Are you going to keep me?” 

He took San’s silence for a yes. 

“Good answer,” he smirked while pulling the wrinkled shirt over his head. When he opened the door to the hallway he called back, “See you this time next week!”

San was once again left alone in his dimly-lit office.

After two minutes of hesitation, San walked across the room. He traced his fingers along the arm of the couch Wooyoung had been fucking, bringing them up to his nose to sniff. They smelled like sex. He slowly opened his mouth to slide them in, savoring the slightly salty taste. It wasn’t enough - he needed more. Leaning down, he put his nose to the material, flattening his tongue against it to lick a long, broad stripe up the arm. He tasted the sweat from Wooyoung’s balls and the leftover sprinklings of his cum. He savored them, tongue travelling over every feature in his mouth to ingrain the flavor of Wooyoung’s release. 

His want outweighed his shame.

He slowly dropped down onto the hardwood. He laid on his back to replay Wooyoung’s words in his mind, firmly pressing his cheek into the ground. He forced his palm against it, imagining the way Wooyoung’s foot would feel grinding against his temple. Turning his face towards the couch to try it on the other side, something glinted and caught his eye. Shifting closer, he saw it was a bottle of some kind. He shimmied his arm underneath the sofa to pull it out. San remained on his back while he investigated, holding the clear tube up to the light. Pale yellow liquid rolled around inside, but there was no label. He unscrewed the cap and was hit with it - _perfume_. _Wooyoung’s_ perfume, contained in a travel-size rollerball. He stared at it in awe, pressing his thumb into the top and rolling the cool metal ball under his pad. The liquid leaked out, wetting his fingertip. He brought it down to inhale, nose hairs burning at the undiluted scent. It wasn't as good as when it was settled into the warmth of Wooyoung’s skin, but it was enough. He traced his thumb down the straining muscles of his neck, stopping to pool the liquid into the dip between his collar bones. He pressed it in a little harder, feeling the pressure against his windpipe. He imagined his face between Wooyoung’s thighs. He came in his pants, untouched.

San hadn't spoken one word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early predictions: How do you think this will go for San?  
> Let me know in the comments or at [@wooingsan](https://twitter.com/wooingsan) on Twitter!
> 
> _That's not too much to ask, is it, Doctor?_
> 
> P.S. Happy Cinco De Mayo to those who celebrate!


	3. Session III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seonghwa confronts San. Wooyoung dances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter incorporates some music! Look out for it as hyperlinks in the text.
> 
> This edit got a little long but I hope you like it as much as I do <3

That night, San had a wet dream. 

He dreamed about Wooyoung. He dreamed about his mouth, his thighs, his feet. He dreamed about white lingerie and bending him over his desk. He dreamed about prepping him for entry, wanting to lick his tight ring of muscle and plunge his tongue inside. But then he couldn’t dream anymore. His brain didn’t know what those sensations would feel like, so it refused to continue. 

San woke up annoyed. 

He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom and breathed in the world around him. Then he remembered the scrunchie that rests on the table by his bed. He reached for it, seeking comfort. Just wanting to rub the soft velvet against his palms, he knocked over something else in the process. _Oh._ Right. The perfume.

He rolled on his side and brought the scrunchie up in front of his face, watching the way it divots and slides between his fingertips before closing his eyes. He rubbed it against his cheeks almost lovingly. Then he brushed it up over his eyelids and down his neck, coming back around to his warm mouth. 

They say the lips are the most sensitive part of the body. 

He tickled his lips with the scrunchie, barely skimming the fuzz against his pout, moving it back and forth carefully. Eyes flying open with an idea, he stared at the small bottle of perfume. Blaming his impulse on early morning mental haze, San grabbed the bottle, uncapped it quickly, and started rolling the silver ball into the pink puckers. He ran it back and forth, eyes watering at the intensity of the scent until he was satisfied the scrunchie was sufficiently drenched. Then, he waited. San held the fabric in his hands gingerly, letting it shimmer under the gentle light streaming through the curtains. 

Once he felt the potency was sufficiently diffused, San brought the pinched ring to his lips and tenderly tongued through it. 

His nose was nustled in the fabric so he could smell Wooyoung when he licked. 

.:.:.:.

He kept the scrunchie away from him for the next six days.

Every moment out of the house he remembered how disappointed he was with himself. He was frustrated, concerned, and above all: shocked. He still couldn’t comprehend what his body was going through. He was a sex therapist. He listened to people describe sex for a living. Sometimes, they even masturbated in front of him. Somewhat like Wooyoung, if it makes progress towards the larger goal during each patient’s session, masturbation was allowed. 

Honestly, all this should be normal, run of the mill practice in the life of a sexologist. He just didn’t understand what made Wooyoung different, or at least what made his body react differently to him. And maybe also his mind. This newfound ability to be aroused was compromising his identity as a practitioner, and a good practitioner at that. Not only did Wooyoung have this effect on San, but also all the other therapists he’s seen before, apparently. He was undoubtedly beautiful and a skilled storyteller, but that shouldn’t be enough. They had all seen patients like that before. _So what was it about him?_

San avoided his thoughts like he avoided Seonghwa, retreating as soon as he was confronted. He had come close to being cornered by his boss at least three times, sliding out of the staff kitchen and promising to check in with him soon. Good practice meant meeting with your supervisor at least once a month, and San had already pushed it for the last three weeks. He knew he would have to acknowledge it soon - their conversation, and his own denial at the gravity of the situation.

Finally, one week after their second session, San let himself put the scrunchie back on. Still in bed, he breathed a sigh of relief when he slid his penis through the hole, letting himself push in slowly. He liked the feeling on his cool skin, steadily heating up with the images playing out in his mind. He had thought about Wooyoung draped over the arm of his studded leather office couch many times between then and now, and he wondered what Wooyoung would show him today. 

He had also thought about this new access to his scent. Recognizing that there was only a precious limited quantity, he’s resisted the urge to douse everything he owns in it. He made a deal with himself: On Wednesdays, the day Wooyoung came to his office, San would let himself use it. 

That morning, as San slipped his entire cock and balls through the elastic opening of the scrunchie, he was grateful for that promise. San pondered where he should apply it and lifted his head to peer down at his own package sitting pretty swaddled in the velvety cloth. 

He pressed the cold, distended metal into the base of his dick before tracing up alongside his prominent veins. As he got more aroused, steadily hardening, he could practically taste the way their scents started to mix. He continued to massage the rollerball into his member, the precise pressure compelling his mouth open in pleasure. Careful not to waste any more fragrance, he forced himself to stop. San sat up, wanting to take in the view. He was naked - toned skin decorated by the patterns of strewn light. He widene his knees and took his tip in hand, lifting it up just to look at himself - how he was wearing his client’s accessory around his flushed cock and balls made perky by imagining Wooyoung’s asshole around him instead, and how the scented liquid glistened in the light, wondering if the natural lubricant of Wooyoung’s body would cover him just as beautifully. Ignited by Wooyoung’s scent in the air, San realized that he was becoming consumed by him. 

Rolling out of bed, San found a pair of clean boxer briefs and tucked himself in securely. He wasn’t worried about washing the scent off. He was sure after eight hours had passed, the fragrance would be unnoticeable. 

.:.:.:.

Kitchens, as communal gathering spaces, often elicit conversation. At least they do for San and his supervisor.

San hadn’t managed to get in and out quick enough that morning. He was hovering over the sink filling his mug with the stale breakroom coffee when he heard, “San?” He jumped, the stream of coffee deviating almost enough to spill over the edge. But not quite. “Oh, it is you San. Do you have a minute?”

San slowly set the half-empty pot back on the warming plate. Blowing across the surface of his mug, he finally turned towards the door.

Seonghwa studied his face. San did his best to maintain just the right amount of bored eye contact - not so much as to reveal his effort, but not avoiding him to raise suspicion either.

“So… how are things going, San? I know we probably should’ve checked in before this, but here we are,” Seonghwa said hesitantly.

San feigned innocence. “Everything is going well, Seonghwa-ssi. Don’t worry about not checking in before, I think our ad-hoc conversations are fine. I would come to you if there were any real issues.” He busied himself by taking small sips.

“Mm.” Seonghwa began chewing on his lip. “And how are things going with your newest client…?”

San paused his ministrations. “You can name him. He isn’t a demon - you can’t summon him that easily.” 

Seonghwa looked unconvinced. “That’s not what I’ve heard,” he began, stopping when he saw an almost invisible glare flicker over San’s face. “But it doesn’t matter. How are things going with _Jung Wooyoung,_ then? I told you he doesn’t usually make it past two sessions with a single therapist. I know you’ve met that already, correct?” San blinked. “And are you planning on seeing him again?”

“Yes, today actually. He’s fine. Wooyoung-ssi requires a different approach to the work, but I believe we’re finding a pathway to success.”

Seonghwa nodded slightly, eyes steady. “You know I’m confident in your abilities, San. That’s why we hired you. You’re a talented psychologist with excellent credentials. Top of your class, high client rating review based on individual success and great boundaries, but for one client to essentially take out the whole field of practitioners in Seoul is-” San cut him off with a scoff. 

“You’re right - so since you’re so confident in my abilities, what are you worried about? I can handle him.”  
  
Seonghwa furrowed his brows.

San’s voice started to grow louder. “Don’t take everyone else’s opinions on so easily. He’s not a pariah. He’s a normal human with a backstory - the exact kind of patient we as clinicians claim to support. I’m sure it’s the other therapists’ failures that propagated these rumors about him. Don’t stoop to their level.” 

San, cognizant of his rising defensiveness, forced himself to swallow it down in the face of his increasingly concerned supervisor. 

“All I’m saying is, we’re getting somewhere. He’s clearly defined his goals, and we’re working on them.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms in the doorframe, making himself larger. “Sure, San. Maybe he’s outlined a goal, but make sure it’s real. Figure out his motives before he figures out yours.” Seonghwa’s eyes glinted sharply, tracking San’s movements like a hawk. “I would hate to see you lose your job.”

Fortunately, San knew what he was watching for. 

San turned to pour out the remaining coffee grounds coolly. “When I figure him out you’ll be promoting me instead.” 

Seonghwa turned on his heel and left the room.

.:.:.:.

Wooyoung was wearing a crop top. He was wearing a crop top that said ‘kitten’, and loose ripped jeans, and fishnets that peeked out between holes and over the top of his waist. His lips were glossy and his hair bounced in waves. He was wearing far less jewelry than last time. 

He entered San’s office with a sweet smile, eyes crinkling up as he tilted his head. Humming lightly, he waltzed over to the couch, taking his shoes off and sliding them under the coffee table before sitting down. He sat upright and proper like an excited student on the first day of class. When he smiled again San started to feel nervous.

“Hello Doctor! I’m here on time today so we don’t have to rush. How are you?” He simpered. 

San was half-expecting to have another one-sided session this week. The innocent question caught him off guard. “Mm... I’m doing well, Wooyoung-ssi. And yourself?” 

Wooyoung smiled brightly. “I’m great, Doctor! I’ve been feeling so much better lately, thanks to you. Oh, can we use informal language now? This is going well, so I’d love to call you San. These sessions have really been helping me out. It’s so true that not getting off regularly can leave you feeling backed up and stuffy. You’ve helped me significantly relieve my stress already. Thank you,” he grinned again.

San was completely unprepared for this. He’s sure his face looked astounded. He sat unmoving and tried to take in this different vibe.

“Oh by the way San, did I leave anything here last week?”

San blanked out his expression.

“Remember how my bag fell on the floor when the table tilted over? Well, I thought I got everything, but I guess not. I’m missing a little container of perfume and I swore I had it when I visited last week. You haven’t seen anything?” Wooyoung asked with large eyes.

San shook his head. “Unfortunately I haven’t, Wooyoung-ssi. If I see it I’ll hold on to it for you, but most likely the cleaning crew has already taken care of it by now.” He hoped his cheeks weren’t turning red.

For a minute Wooyoung said nothing, looking over every muscle in San’s face before nodding slowly in agreement. He pouted a little before looking away. San sighed in relief.

“Okay. Well, anyways. How have you been feeling about these sessions? I know I can be tough to handle, but we’re already on session three. You’ve already kept me longer than the vast majority!” Wooyoung laughed. He looked up at San’s face expectantly, still sitting on the edge of the couch. “You don’t feel like I’m asking you to compromise too much? I know therapists can have pretty fragile egos, and what we’re doing isn’t exactly an ego-boost.”

San kept his blank expression. “While these meetings are uncouth, Wooyoung-ssi, I do think we’re both able to learn something from them.”

Wooyoung tilted his head and smiled. “What do you think we’ve been learning?”

“Well, you’re learning how to consistently locate and produce the necessary criteria for your best sexual release practices, and you’re teaching me about operant conditioning along the way,” San tried to smile back. “I wouldn’t say learning on the job is a hit to my ‘fragile therapist ego,’ as you called it.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that way,” Wooyoung grinned, lips starting to curl up at the corners devilishly. ”I’m not trying to make any assumptions about your sexual orientation here, but for the sake of these visits I’ve been operating as if you’re at least somewhat interested in men,” he laughed, sound reverberating around the room. “It’s easier for us both that way, no?”

Wooyoung stood up and started to undress. “Oh, do you mind if I put on a little music, San? I didn’t play on my channel today, so I need to loosen up a bit. I do have a surprise, though,” He smirked, looking down at his phone to choose a playlist.

When [the first song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7w3bNgfi56c) started playing, Wooyoung began to sway his hips, sliding his phone down onto the coffee table. He wove his hands through his hair, body forming small figure eights while he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Feeling the music, Wooyoung started to sing along. 

_“Everyone knows all about my transgressions”_

His voice was light and clear, swirling around the room and wrapping San up. Wooyoung brought his hands above his head, crop top lifting up to show off the sliver of skin not covered by black fishnets, 'kitten' distorting in the folds. He worked his hands over his arms, up and down slowly, before he spread his fingers and began to drift them back down his body, wrapping around his neck and trailing over the skin of his shoulders, his collar bones, the nape of his neck. His forefingers caught on the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to show off the smooth definition between his pecs. He pulled it taut before releasing it to bounce back up.

_“I don’t wanna get caught up in the middle of it, but I can’t help myself”_

He knew Wooyoung was singing for him, but San couldn’t look away from his hands. Wooyoung spread them out, thumbs dragging over his covered nipples, breath catching to interrupt the verse he was singing. He continued to drag his hands out to the edges of his ribs, pushing in with the palms of his hands, lowering them to almost wrap around his small, small waist. He linked his fingers through the diamonds of the fishnets, stretching the elastic outwards only to snap back against his taut skin. San wanted to hear it again.

At a break in the verse, Wooyoung stared straight at San and slowly circled his tongue around his lips, making them even glossier. As he started slowly unbuttoning his ripped jeans, he bit his lower lip and drug his teeth across it. The pants were baggy enough that when he undid the zipper they fell straight off his hips, revealing nothing but the fishnets underneath. San caught his breath. 

_“Baby I’m looking for something I can’t have”_

Wooyoung’s dick was completely poking through the gaps in the fabric, pink length hardening under San’s gaze. Wooyoung adjusted so that his balls slipped through a stretched gap as well, soft and round against the harsh black pattern. He massaged them between his fingertips in one hand, pressing into his scrotum like the keys of a piano, sliding his testicles as he went, other hand fisted into his own hair. San watched as Wooyoung continued to dance around the office in nothing but his crop top and tights. 

_“Sometimes the greatest way to say something is to say nothing at all”_

Wooyoung kept eye contact with him, punctuating his performance with winks and finger wags while his semi-erect member bounced haphazardly about his pelvis. As the song began to transition into the next, Wooyoung sat down on the couch and shimmied the crop top off over his head, revealing his nude torso. San only then noticed that Wooyoung’s body was accentuated with multicolor glitter, especially clustered around his nipples and the light grooves of his muscles. The shimmer dusted the tips of his shoulders and swirled around his biceps before weaning out towards his forearms. San had been trying so hard not to notice the pretty little details, things exactly like this, that he had successfully missed them completely. Only now he was more than aware. He started to get squirmy in his chair. 

Wooyoung shifted to throw his legs over the back of the couch, pressing himself against the seat of the cushion and letting his head dangle off the edge. Upside down, he looked at San and giggled, still moving his feet to the rhythm. Then he just stared at the ceiling for a few moments, humming to himself and shifting around slightly. Gravity was kind enough to let Wooyoung’s precum drip onto his exposed waist. That’s when he started to remove the lingering clothing.

San watched him. 

“I learned my lesson last time. That must be a cheap coffee table you’ve got there, San. It’s not ideal for fun activities.” Wooyoung smirked. “Speaking of fun activities, I told you I have a surprise today, didn’t I? 

He hooked his hands around the back of his knees, pulling them in so he could loop his fingers under the hem of his fishnets and pull them off, kicking them over the back of the couch. For the first time ever, San had a completely naked patient sprawled out on his couch. Then San saw it - the sparkle of a fake gemstone butt plug. It glinted in the light, refracting pink kaleidoscopes onto the softness of Wooyoung’s thick inner thighs. Wooyoung started playing with it, pushing in and out, moaning lewdly to the rise and fall of the song playing through his phone. When he pulled it all the way out San could see just how large it was. He wondered how long Wooyoung had that in him, or how he could have kept it there without cumming. 

Then he remembered Wooyoung couldn’t cum - at least not without him. 

San was straining so hard against his slacks that it was starting to hurt. Making sure that Wooyoung was caught up in himself, San subtly pressed down on the head, slowly breathing out a feeling of relief. 

“I bet you like my toy, hmm, San” Wooyoung purred seductively, breaching himself with the silicone mound repeatedly. “Do you wish you were my toy instead?” His eyes flickered to San’s to gauge his reaction. 

San froze, arm locking up still pressed to his bulge, praying Wooyoung hadn’t seen the movement. He hoped his face looked impassive. 

“Sadly we both know it can’t be, but here’s what we can do.” Wooyoung flipped himself back over, adding a comment about that position causing his blood to rush to the wrong head.

As [the song changed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjlSiASsUIs) he got up, fished around in the pocket of his discarded jeans, and pulled out a tiny remote. He stood up gracefully, long, beautiful body on display. San inhaled sharply, trapping his hand under his thigh as Wooyoung began walking over to him. He watched the subtle sway of Wooyoung’s hips as he moved, half-hard cock swinging between his legs. He watched the way his calves tensed up as he stepped lightly, and how his feet barely made any noise on the reverberating hardwood floor. He watched the shadows dip over the light toning of Wooyoung’s abdomen, and how the glitter highlighted the brown nubs of his perfect nipples. He watched Wooyoung’s face, the way his lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyelids half drooped, brown irises latched onto San. San’s entire body shivered. 

Wooyoung continued walking over to him in his entire naked glory. He came to stand on the other side of the desk, glancing down at San’s crotch. Wooyoung was the perfect height to where his pelvis rose just above the edge. Noticing this, he briefly stood on his tip toes and widened his stance, lowering his member down onto the table without using his hands, leaving it there as he came to rest his feet fully back on the floor. San looked at his patient’s cock and balls propped up on his desk. He had never seen them this close before. He took in Wooyoung’s size, a little more slender and shorter than his own, but perfectly shaped. He looked soft, soft, soft and San wanted to graze his lips along the shaft. The tip was round and full, cut under the bottom with a sizeable edge that San could only imagine would be great to grasp his lips around. The small hole continued to leak precum, oozing out generously under San’s worshipping gaze. His scrotum was semi-taught, teasing San into wishing his fingers could play with the hardened pods inside of them. San wanted him in his mouth, on his tongue, in his hands. San wanted him. Wooyoung waited for San to fully appreciate him, his inner exhibitionist keening under the attention, only speaking when he saw San shift back in his chair slightly, having unknowingly leaned forward at Wooyoung’s approach. 

Wooyong leaned in but stopped abruptly, nostrils flaring. 

Staring at San’s forgotten hand, he asked, “What ever happened to my scrunchie, San?” San gasped. His muscles clenched and his eyes went wide. He couldn’t decide if it would look worse to move his hand now, or to leave it there. So he did nothing, hanging off Wooyoung’s words. 

“It was my favorite.” Wooyoung hummed. He set the remote on the edge of the desk and bent down, resting his elbows in front of San and lowering his chin into his palms. His eyes scanned every inch of San’s face. He leaned even farther to grasp San’s jaw with his fingertips, pelvis crushing his genitals against the desk. He twisted in to whisper, “I bet you wear it around your dick, don’t you San. I bet you pretend it’s my asshole. I bet you fuck into it at night, imagining my body in your hands.” His gaze locked onto San’s lips. He blew on them. When the cool gust hit his face, San stopped thinking. He opened his mouth to welcome more of Wooyoung’s exhale. “Would you spank me? I guess I haven’t been a very good boy, _daddy_ ,” he smirked. “Oh, but the scrunchie really isn’t a very good alternative. My asshole’s a whole lot tighter. Warmer. _Wetter_.” He was breathing into San’s face, still holding him firm. Then he whispered, “But I guess adding that perfume was a nice touch.” San hyperventilated.

“Unfortunately you know you can’t touch me, but I won’t take all your power away, today.” Wooyoung retreated and pushed the remote a bit farther across the desk. 

He turned to sway away and San was again entranced by the sight - the long center line of Wooyoung’s back playing in the light, tapering to a thin waist before filling back out again into full hips. Glitter shimmered across his ass, pooling in the thumb-print-divots just before the swell. San imagined dipping his thumbs into those concave spaces. He looked small enough that San could keep his thumbs there and still get his fingertips to reach around Wooyoung’s sides and under the edges of his ribcage. With the height difference, he thought his own member, when fully hard, would nuzzle straight up along the deep valley of Wooyoung’s plump ass. He wondered if the cheeks would hide him entirely, or if his tip would poke out the top hotdog style. Then he imagined pushing Wooyoung’s ass cheeks together and fucking through them. Arousal peaked, he got so close to cumming he jolted in his seat. Wooyoung whipped his head around at the sound, scanning San’s form to see if he had been touching himself. San slotted his hands together and placed them firmly on top of the desk. 

“Go ahead and turn it on, San. I’m ready.”

He wouldn’t lose himself. He wouldn’t touch that remote.

In a rare moment of strength, San shoveed a folder across the desk, knocking the controls to the floor.

Wooyoung gasped. “Oh, San. I thought you were better that that. I thought you were different from the rest of the second-rate ‘psychologists’ out there, holding so tight to their egos,” Wooyoung scoffed, incredulous. “I thought you were ready to drop yours for the sake of our sessions, no? I thought you were going to help me achieve my sexual _fulfillment_ ,” San cringed at the word. “Aren’t you ready to help me regain some of the power that I’ve lost…to help me _heal_?” San visibly shuddered. “We talked about this, San. It’s not enough just to have eyes on me, I need to be _appreciated_.” 

Wooyoung sauntered back over to San, pivoting over the desk to get in San’s face. San watched the way Wooyoung licked his lips and angled his head as if he was about to go in for a kiss. He stopped only millimeters from San’s face, gaze flitting between his lips and his eyes. “Can you do that for me, Sannie?” San inhaled sharply at the nickname, frozen in place. He has never had a patient get in his space or call him something so informal before. Now he was not only struggling to fight off quivering hormones and lustful senses but blantant physical attacks to his boundaries in the workplace. He knew he should move, he knew he should respond, he knew he wanted to lean in. He knew, he knew, he knew - he knew so much he no longer knew anything. 

Wooyoung kept him in his torment a second longer before shifting so the plush turn of their lips almost imperceptibly grazed together. San accidentally whined in the back of his throat. He gaped at his own sound, short-circuiting.

It all happened so fast San wasn’t even sure it was real. 

Smiling softly, Wooyoung withdrew. “Okay, Sannie. I won’t make you do it today...but don’t regret losing your chance.” He lightly knocked the edge of San’s jaw before pushing himself upright. “Maybe something up close and personal would help us, hmm?”

He jumped up on the edge of the desk where his balls laid previously, back to San. He bent over, leaning as far as possible to put his jewel-clad asshole on display. He looked over his shoulder before laying a hand lightly on top of the remote and pressing the button, immediately eliciting a duet of low whirring vibrations and Wooyoung’s airy moans.

Starting to pant, he shared, “I’ve always been a slut for toys, but especially vibrators. They’re a great solution for someone who lives for the feeling of being full, but scorns the thought of having a partner. It’s a match made in heaven.” He hit the button again and the vibrations got significantly louder. Wooyoung threw his head back and groaned, rocking his body lightly. “May the gods bless the man who invented the vibrator,” he whispered. 

They listened together. They heard their tangled breathing interspersed with small sounds. They heard the vibrator begin to alternate tempo as Wooyoung changed it once again. They heard the sounds of traffic outside the office window. 

They heard the silence between them.

Wooyoung came off the side of the desk, cords of white splattering between his bare feet. 

Wooyoung let the toy pulse into him until he became oversensitive, deciding not to go for round two. He squirmed as he pulled it out gingerly, sighing when it released with a ‘pop’. Needing a moment before getting up, he set the plug down next to him on the desk, pointed tip facing the ceiling. San stared at the pink silicone while Wooyoung attempted to catch his breath. The vibrator was coated with lube, and San wondered how much of it is natural. It was so shiny, glistening in the light. Glistening like he imagined it.

Wooyoung, sated, hopped off the desk and collected his fishnets from the floor, coming back to mop up his mess with them. San couldn’t see over the edge of the desk, but he was sure the holey tights weren’t doing much in terms of cleanup. When Wooyoung stood up he dropped the fishnets onto San’s desk and swiped them over the area where he formerly sat. If anything, the cum-soaked fabric only made the desk dirtier. 

Smiling at San, Wooyoung left them there to redress in his crop-top and jeans. He slipped on his shoes, shut off his tunes, and walked toward the door.

Exasperated, San stood and called, “Wait, Wooyoung! You forgot your tights!” 

Hand on the doorknob, Wooyoung glanced over his shoulder and purred, “The cleaning crew will take care of them, right Doctor?”

.:.:.:.

San lay awake for hours, sucking the dank fishnets into his mouth and wondering whether he regretted not taking Wooyoung up on his offer to regain some control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (PSA: Don’t put perfume on your genitals)
> 
> Did you like the incorporation of the music?  
> Let me know in the comments or at [@wooingsan](https://twitter.com/wooingsan) on Twitter!
> 
> _That's not too much to ask, is it, Doctor?_


	4. Session IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung opens up. So does San.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotions?
> 
> EDIT: SEXUAL HEALING RECEIVED [BEAUTIFUL FAN ART!](https://twitter.com/AlhenaLyo/status/1270477083685289987)  
> When I tell you that this is literally exactly how I pictured Wooyoung and San from the previous chapter, I-  
> All credit goes to the amazing [@AlhenaLyo](https://twitter.com/AlhenaLyo) on Twitter. Give them a follow!

San made a decision. He was going to talk to Wooyoung. 

The confrontation with Seonghwa tripped a warning light in him. He knew they couldn’t keep this up. He needed more clarity. San prided himself on understanding others’ desires, figuring out their core motives and providing just the right kind of support. Even without the physical experience he could sympathize with their emotions - but he didn’t understand Jung Wooyoung, which is probably why he didn’t understand what was happening within himself. He was perplexed by his defense of the self proclaimed ‘sex addict’, especially since he suspected there were underlying points of contention even though Wooyoung denied it. _Especially_ because Wooyoung denied it. Therapists can only work off of suspicion, hoping that the right questions will elicit answers that lead to progress. 

San spent the next week reflecting on what little he knew about Jung Wooyoung versus what he assumed just based on their interactions. Even though Wooyoung explicitly stated that he simply didn’t want to be touched and that it wasn’t a big deal, to a therapist that screams “repression of emotional backlog of trauma”. He knew Wooyoung was going to rebuke him for asking about his past. So, he was holding on to the hope that persistent Wooyoung would still come back to their sessions, since he seemed to honor therapists calling it quits before he does. The worst that could happen was he spat in San’s face and left the session.

The worst, _worst thing_ that could happen was he spat in San’s face and left the session, never returned to the office, and San forgot how to feel.

He almost talked himself out of asking. Then he reminded himself that he was Doctor Choi San, highly regarded sex therapist with good boundaries and even better recommendations, and no patient of his would strip him of that title.

..:.:.:.

For their fourth session San left the scrunchie at home.

Wooyoung entered excitedly, ready to get the show on the road. 

He was five minutes late, and he was wearing assless leather chaps over fatally short daisy dukes. The prominent belt buckle matched the thick clasp cuffing the collar around his neck. His lean abs were on full display, and his pectorals were covered by a thin white tube top. There were raised edges in the area San knew Wooyoung’s nipples to be, and he could only imagine they were alluding to some kind of decorative nipple pasties. His hair was loose and flowing, accentuated by dark and smokey eye makeup. He was the embodiment of Hollywood’s American southern sin. 

Running a hand through his hair, he shot San a sweet smile and strolled around the couch, straight past the coffee table and right up to the edge of San’s desk. Almost shyly, he shuffled his feet and peeked up through his eyelashes. “Hi, Sannie.” His fingers started drawing invisible patterns against the wood. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I just came from work, but I tried _reaaallly_ hard to be here on time,” he simpered playfully. “Do you forgive me?”

Momentarily struck dumb by the rare sighting of a sweet and innocent Wooyoung, San briefly forgot his mission.

Pleased at the reaction, Wooyoung reached out to separate San’s linked hands. He brought one close, turning it palm up to lightly pet along the sensitive insides of his fingers. San hesitated, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze. 

Frowning at his unusually reserved therapist, Wooyoung tilted down to press a kiss in the center of San’s ticklish palm. “What’s wrong, Sannie?” He asked, lips dragging in velvety circles. The warmth of his breath created miniscule puddles of moisture along San’s heart line. If he were to receive a palm reading right now, he knew Wooyoung’s influence would have smoothed the surface into something unrecognizable.

San remained silent, thinking, so Wooyoung tried a little more goading. He moved his mouth to the base of San’s thumb and nibbled lightly. 

“San,” he hummed, “Can I mark you?” He licked a broad stripe over the pliant flesh before opening his jaw around it and pressing his teeth in lightly. 

San let his fingertips curl around the edge of Wooyoung’s hands. Wooyoung glanced up quickly, biting harder. 

Quietly, San asked him, “What happened to you, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung paused, mouth dropping open in disbelief. Then he scoffed. “Woooow San. What, week four and now we’re backtracking?” He released San’s hand completely, a tiny string of saliva breaking as they separate. He took a step back and crossed his arms. “I don’t understand why therapists are all obsessed with the idea of trauma. Listen - I’ve never regretted anything I’ve done, or anyone I’ve been with. It’s all been consensual. They all taught me a little bit more about myself and what I like, or don’t. I know I talk about being stripped of my power as a sub, and that’s true. There’s also nothing wrong with it if that’s your thing - it’s just not mine. We need to stop acting like deviating from the perceived norm automatically equates to some sort of tragic backstory. This is why I like being alone,” he huffed. “Other people are always trying to psychoanalyze me. I psychoanalyze myself enough, thanks. Remember how I said I’ve read all the books and done all the research? Yeah, been there done that. Thank you, next.”

Ah, there was the brat San was familiar with.

Withdrawing his discarded hand, San pressed, “Why don’t you want a partner, Wooyoung?”

Sighing, Wooyoung countered, “We’ve talked about this, San. I told you - When I’m with a partner I fall into subspace and I can’t shake it. It’s just what I do. Believe it or not I _want_ to submit. I want to give myself up. But I want to do it on my terms.”

In the face of this surprisingly fruitful conversation, San’s mind was having a little trouble keeping up. He was only a recent graduate, still relatively new to his practice, _and_ physically inexperienced, and that left him defaulting to textbook patterns and narratives he’s heard before. 

But having a therapist’s ego meant San wanted to be the one to figure him out. He wanted to understand Wooyoung in a way none of the other therapists had before, and to actually make some kind of lasting progress. 

He also prayed Wooyoung was simple enough to figure out once you get him to open up. If he was simple to understand, hopefully it would be easier to figure out his own feelings, too.

“So Wooyoung, what if you just haven’t found the right kind of Dom?”

“Oh no San, that’s not how it works. I’m a sub with a power kink. I want to submit, but I want to bring you down with me,” his eyes glinted in the low light. “Doms always ‘receive the gift’ of submission, but I’m selfish. I want it too.”

“So... you’re a switch?”

“San. For a sexologist I think you’re missing the nuances here. But I guess these primitive definitions tell me you’ve never treaded the BDSM waters. Let me help you, Sannie,” he spurred. “A switch can be both a Dom or a sub, depending on the necessity of the situation. I will never be a Dom. I will never take physical control of someone else, or make their decisions for them. I don’t want to be your caretaker, or to strip you of the ability to meet your needs yourself. What I _do_ want is to give myself to your desires - but I want you to willingly give yourself to me, too.” Wooyoung paused, gauging San’s comprehension.

Uncertain he drove his point home, Wooyoung pressed, “All I want is for someone to appreciate me. Appreciate. That’s enough.”

Watching that sink in, Wooyoung hopped up on San’s desk and spun himself around, criss-crossing his legs and occupying the space directly in front of San. When he tucked his feet underneath his knees opened wide, revealing the inner cutouts of his assless chaps. The tiny inseam of the jean shorts slid up even higher, presenting San with the full force of Wooyoung’s creamy inner thighs. The prominent tendons flexed, drawing San’s gaze toward Wooyoung’s pelvis. The heavy silver buckle pressed into his abdomen, a light fold of skin creasing over the top as he leaned in. He took San’s hands back in his own.

Wooyoung seemed unconvinced, analyzing San’s face before deciding to continue.

“When people have access to my body they appreciate it less. From afar, their want is never truly sated. But when they can touch me, I lose some hold on their attention. They stop imagining what it would be like to fuck me because they already know. Don’t you wish you knew what it would feel like to be inside me, Sannie?” Wooyoung squeezed San’s fingers together and dipped his tongue into the valleys between them. “I’m a sex addict, and I think about it all the time. Normal people don’t, at least not after they know what it’s like to get in someone’s pants. I only receive two kinds of reactions when people know what I’m looking for.” He held up two fingers. “One. They push me away so they can stop thinking about me. Two. They let their ego take over and they touch me. They touch me just so they can feel like they’ve regained some control. Then they drop me.”

His smirk returned and he quietly purred, “But you, for example - I can make you obsessed. I can make sex the only thing you think about too. And you know why it’s better with a sex therapist?” He grinned, corners of his mouth curling devilishly. 

“Because it could ruin you,” he whispered. The air got stuck in San’s throat. 

“I’ve won when you’re so addicted you can’t stand the thought of losing me, of losing this time together. I’ve won when I’ve made you hungry, like me,” he murmured, entranced. “And that’s a hard thing to do, but I think we’re getting somewhere, right _daddy_?”

San couldn’t resume a regular breathing schedule.

Leaning back, Wooyoung sighed deeply. He cupped San’s face, caressing a thumb lightly over his strong cheekbone. “I know you’re trying, San. I know you just want to do what you think is right. Unfortunately you can’t save me, because there’s nothing to save me from. I know that’s not what you want to hear, and you might not want to believe it, but it’s true.” He threaded his hands through San’s hair, rubbing the roots in small, soothing circles. The touch was easy and warm.

“I’ve always been so go with the flow, never making decisions and just leaving things up to someone else. I was that kid who never shut up and wasn’t very productive. I’ve never had a steady job and didn’t see a need to go to college because I don’t believe that’s the most important thing in life. My family always told me to take control of something - anything. If not a job then an apartment, then my education, then a car, then just a steady partner...but I didn’t care about any of those things. I’m sure I was the opposite of you, San,” he laughed. “You were probably a golden child. I wasn’t. I didn’t care about anyone’s expectations. I went through school fairly popular, getting along with most kids. I could sit almost anywhere in the lunchroom and be fine. I liked that - the variety in being invited to eat s’mores at the smart kids’ bonfire, headbang at the band kids’ garage concert, or make out with strangers at the druggies’ parties. And I _did_ get aroused. ” 

Gaze unfocused, his hands started to feel more like petting than a massage. “Some small part of me did need a little control. And that control came in the form of my sex life,” he paused. “I was never afraid to be with others, and honestly it was easier to let them have the control. It was easier, but I realized it wasn’t what I needed. I didn’t care about the physical aspect. I just wanted to control their need. For me. For all of me. That’s how I learned to self-care after letting other things in my life wash right over me. But a Dom won’t give in that easily,” he sighed, breath fanning San’s hairline. “I just want someone to be as dependent on me as I am on them.”

The hand not in San’s hair started to squeeze his fingertips. “I bet you always had so much control whether you wanted it or not. I bet you were naturally smart. I bet people came to you for advice, and you never had these uncontrollable urges to do anything bad. You were always unconsciously regulating yourself, am I right?” Wooyoung smirked at San’s aghast expression. Leaning in closer, he hummed, “But I can take that control away from you. I can liberate you.” He once again brought both San’s hands to his mouth. This time he didn’t ask for permission before biting the ends San’s long fingers. “BDSM isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you _need_.”

“And what you need, Doctor Choi San, is to lose control.” 

San was speechless. Wooyoung kissed his knuckles. 

Lowly, he said, “Lose control with me.”

San, breathing heavily, tried to fight against the thick fog of arousal to process what Wooyoung was proposing. He knew there were bits of vulnerability woven through the story, but he was having trouble focusing. 

He looked up at Wooyoung and made his second decision of the day.

San stood abruptly, the rolling desk chair flying back out from under him. He grabbed Wooyoung’s calves and yanked them out from his criss-cross position, pulling him toward the edge of the desk roughly. When his thighs met the end of the wood, San let go, causing Wooyoung’s feet to swing like a pendulum and throw him off balance. He just barely caught himself before falling forward off the edge. San was instantly between his now open legs, slamming his hands down on either side of Wooyoung’s leather clad hips. He was taller than Wooyoung in this position, and he had to tilt his chin down to look at the other’s face. Wooyoung’s huge eyes blinked as San released a loaded exhale across his brow. 

“How much control do you want me to lose, huh, Wooyoung?” San growled. Wooyoung blinked rapidly. “You want me to appreciate you. You want to be desired. You want me to lose control. And you don’t want to be touched. But what if, Wooyoung, the only way I can lose control is to touch you?” He challenged, faces inches apart. “What if you can’t get what you want because what you’re asking for is impossible?”

Wooyoung licked his lips. “It’s not impossible San, or we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“But what if I touched you, Wooyoung, right here and right now. What if I let these hands do what they pleased. What if they grabbed you by the hips and pinned you down on this desk. What if they wrapped under that obnoxious silver buckle and tossed you around. What if...what if I kissed you.” He was suddenly hushed, angling his face the way Wooyoung had done to him the session before. He let more of his weight shift forward and onto his flat hands. “What if I kissed you and licked you and bit you. What if I got so carried away these hands undressed you, so fast your clothes ripped in the process. What would happen then, Wooyoung?”

He stopped, the tip of his nose brushing Wooyoung’s cheek.

“Then you would be just like everyone else.”

San’s insides curled up and died.

He felt Wooyoung shift beneath him. Wooyoung placed his hands atop San’s, plaiting his fingers in the spaces between. He pushed underneath San’s palms, almost holding them. San stood immobile, gaze stuck on a random tome on his bookshelf, the leather worn down from use. Out of the corner of his eye he recognized the other’s face turning toward him. When Wooyoung pressed his glossy lips into the contours of San’s ear, his heart dropped.

“But you won’t,” Wooyoung hissed. The warm, damp air puffed into San’s ear canal and his whole body quivered. “You won’t, because you’re a good boy.” He felt something hot and wet enter him, Wooyoung’s tongue licking into the opening. He followed it with a quick gust of breath, and the contrasting stimulations had San’s member stirring. He shifted slightly onto the balls of his feet. “Oh, sensitive boy.” He could hear the hint of a smile in Wooyoung’s quiet voice. His tongue meandered, ending with a long drag up the outer shell and flicking off the tip with a click. He drug his lips back down to nibble on San’s earlobe. 

“You won’t because you like what we have. You feel things, I know you do. But you know what makes you special, Sannie?” His teeth rake across San’s lobe, pulling the flesh lightly. “You’re the only one strong enough to give up your ego.” 

San could feel the platelets moving through his bloodstream.

“You need me just like I need you, San.”

San swallowed hard. He knew Wooyoung heard it.

“You know what else makes you special,” Wooyoung cooed, “is how attractive you are.” He closed his thighs against San’s hips. San had to scrunch his eyes shut. Wooyoung pulsed his legs together and drew out the tiniest moan. “Oh Sannie, you really do want to be crushed by these thighs, huh? I knew you were my kind of guy. How long does it take you to cum after I leave, hm? Do you wait until you’re in bed? Do you even make it home first?” He slid his hips closer and tilted back, lifting his legs to tighten around San’s trim waist instead. San couldn’t hold back his moan. He dropped his head onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, face contorted in repression. “I bet you don’t even make it until I’ve left the building,” he whispered, turning to nip at San’s throat. It prompted a muscle to tense in San’s neck and Wooyoung bit that too. “I know you can hold back, San. You’re so good.”

Voice scratchy, San pleaded into Wooyoung’s body. “How am I supposed to hold back when you want me to let go?”

“Just let go of your pride, San. Relax,” Wooyoung soothed. “Give yourself to me.” He kissed the juncture of San’s neck and shoulder. His mouth parted against the limited availability of San’s skin contained under the edge of his collar. His lips skimmed back and forth like butterfly wings. Then he added the tip of his tongue. The cool line of saliva reminded San how wet he had seen Wooyoung get. His penis throbbed. He tried to quietly shuffle his hips without Wooyoung noticing, but he failed. Wooyoung responded by attaching his mouth to San’s skin and sucking, quick and open-mouthed, urging his saliva into San’s neck, leaving it wet and glossy.

“San,” he called, breathy. “Lean back. I have an idea.” 

Wooyoung gently pushed San’s shoulders upright, pulling his pelvis flush against the edge of the desk in return. Wooyoung rolled back just enough to bring his knees to his chest. He took hold of San’s palms and pressed them down into the hardwood, but his hands never left San’s wrists. He used them as leverage, pulling himself closer until his plump ass bumped up against San’s hips. Rolling himself back even further, he threw his legs up and over San, hooking his ankles behind his shoulder blades.

When he realized what was happening, San’s throat constricted. 

A cascade of contrasting emotions overtook him, and he could only look at Wooyoung. He watched Wooyoung snuggle his bottom as close to San’s dick as possible, turning so that the omnipresent bulge lay between his barely concealed cheeks. He took in the long line of Wooyoung’s legs, leather creasing as they linked behind his neck. He felt Wooyoung grab the belt loops of his slacks, twisting his fingers into the tan fabric. He breathed in his body heat. He noticed the way Wooyoung was looking at him, eyes half-lidded and burning, watching San appreciate him. 

Wooyoung, breathing deeply, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to completely expose the array of muscles that mapped out his pretty neck. 

San wanted to touch him. His cock jumped in his pants.

“I feel you, San.”

The veins in San’s arms began to protrude from the force of his restraint.

Wooyoung glanced up out of the corner of his eye before letting it fall closed again. “I like you,” he breathed. “I like the way you feel against me. Big. Hot. Ready. I like it.” Wooyoung’s hands moved to undo his belt. “I like the way you watch me.” They unclasped the button of his shorts. “I like the way you smell when you want me.” They drew down the zipper. His calves pressed into San as he lifted his hips off the desk, sliding his clothes down just far enough to unleash his package. 

San didn’t understand why, even though he had seen it so many times before, he actually started to drool. 

“Spit on it, San.”

He whipped his face up to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. Eyes wide, San asked, “When we first met you said you hated that.”

Wooyoung smiled lightly, open mouth letting out a gentle laugh. “Thanks for remembering, but that’s different. You let me be in charge.” Eyes flashing, he repeated, “Spit on me, _daddy_.”

As if on queue, San felt the saliva slide under his tongue. He swallowed heavily, scanning every inch of the man beneath him. Wooyoung was pumping himself lazily, just barely smirking up at San, big brown eyes waiting patiently. Waiting for San to make his decision. “I could use a little more lube.” San knew that was a lie, knew how much precum came out that soft, pretty pink cock. He knew, he knew.

He curled his hands into fists, dropped his head against his chest, and let the pool of his desire fall onto Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung jumped, the shock of the splatter surprising him. 

San followed the way Wooyoung’s hand moved quickly, collecting the spit from where it had fallen across his hips, fingers expertly mixing it into his own fluids. He massaged the combination up his length, under the head, and pressed it into the hole at his tip, moaning. He dipped his thumb and thrummed each finger in succession, milking out his orgasm.

When San looked back up he saw Wooyoung was crying.

San gasped, body locking up in panic. “Wooyoung, I-”

“No San - it’s okay, it’s okay,” Wooyoung sobbed between ragged breaths. “I like it. I want it.” He pumped himself harder, faster, back arching slightly. “I want you.” His legs tensed along San’s body. “I don’t want to lose you, San. I don’t want you to change your mind.”

San didn’t know what to say. 

He stood there and watched his patient unravel against him.

“I wish it wasn’t like this San, I’m sorry,” he cried, tears rolling to drip onto his temples, his ears, the desk. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Wooyoung came in his hand.


	5. Session V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woosan are soft, then they're hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .:.:.:. Thus ends my second fic ever .:.:.:.
> 
> It's been a doozy to write within these boundaries. 
> 
> I would appreciate any feedback at then end!
> 
> (P.S. I made a [watercolor of Wooyoung](https://twitter.com/wooingsan/status/1263176868112609283) to celebrate!)  
> 

Wooyoung needed release - physical, mental, emotional, release. 

Focusing on his physical needs kept the rest at bay, the tangible act of expelling his desires biding time. Once San broke down his walls, once he let him in, Wooyoung felt too much too fast. Being so close to San, his therapist, play partner and confidant, was wearing him down. He hadn’t made it this far with anyone else - but they hadn’t been San. Wooyoung hadn’t expected San to call his bluff.

Wooyoung was afraid. He liked San. He needed him. He didn’t want to lose what they had.

San looked at Wooyoung in a way that felt like pure longing. He looked like he wanted to praise him, pet him, caress him. Wooyoung felt it the first time he entered the office, casually dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans, unsure of what to expect, on the brink of desperation as he approached the newest sexologist in the city. The newest, and by far the cutest. 

He felt it when he saw Doctor Choi San, neat hair, puritan black turtleneck and round-rimmed glasses, unconsciously lean back as if struck by the force of their energies. He saw it in the way he played with the pen in his hands naturally, the way Wooyoung imagined they might play with his body. He saw San - young, inexperienced, and _his_ , at least for the next hour. He prayed, hoped, wished, that this man might be the one. He was ready to find the person who wanted him the way he wanted them, who would give him everything in just the same way. The one who wanted to keep him, to value him, to claim him as theirs, even in this convoluted manner. It was all he could offer. And yet.

So when Wooyoung came to their fourth session he wanted to mark San. He knew San wasn’t allowed to offer anything in return, per his own rules, but his appreciation was enough. Wooyoung couldn’t tell how much more it would take to get San to give in, or if he would inevitably push him too far. So when a love bite turned into mimicking fevered sex, Wooyoung hoped San would give him a little bit more. And he did. And Wooyoung felt relieved and scared and hopeful and guilty. 

He had finally won, but it wasn’t enough.

After Wooyoung released himself in his hands, he lay still, blinking the tears away and looking up at San, whose jaw was slack and whose eyes were huge, concern fortifying his features. He left his hand curled up around his member as it calmed down, warming it with safety and protection. San’s hands flitted up and around Wooyoung's waist tentatively, brows knitted. He settled on cupping Wooyoung’s calves, bringing them down slowly to rest on the chair while he went to do something out of Wooyoung’s vision. He heard a few soft ‘whooshing’ sounds from somewhere unseen and San was back, six snow white tissues bunched between his fingers. He placed one in Wooyoung’s free hand, using the rest to gather up the mix of their fluids. Wooyoung’s heart jumped into his throat.

San smoothed the tissues over Wooyoung’s body lightly, slowly, dipping into the divots of his toned abdomen. When he had cleaned almost everywhere else, he stopped, looking at Wooyoung to quietly ask, “May I?” Wooyoung nodded, tissue still lax in his palm. He watched as San freed his cum-coated hand, pulling it up by the wrist, cleaning between the valleys of his fingers. Wooyoung felt the heat of fingers on skin. 

Then there was only one place left to go. San looked down at Wooyoung’s relaxed penis with a rare expression that Wooyoung didn’t know. He almost felt shy. San looked for three long seconds, up and down, before his eyes flitted up to connect gazes. He started, “Do you…?” 

Wooyoung managed a small, tired smirk, basking in San’s careful attention. “There too, please.”

San nodded and went back to work. He wiped quick and simple, without lingering. Wooyoung liked it anyway. He liked San’s clean fingertips lifting him up, grazing the fine stubble at his base, ever-so-slightly catching on the edge of his tip. He sighed, content.

Finished, San said, “That one was for your face you know.”

Wooyoung felt the tear tracks leading out from the corner of his eyes. He quickly redressed and sat up. He tried to wipe the lingering admission away, but he would need better materials to do so. San stood in front of him again, hands lying lightly at either side of his knees. 

“Thank you, San,” he said.

San returned a hesitant smile. “I should be thanking you, Wooyoung. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for teaching me more about you.” 

Wooyoung waited for a sign of what would happen to these sessions in the future. He found nothing, only San staring back and looking for a clue of his own. They exhaled together. 

Wooyoung got up, gathered his things, and looked over his shoulder at San, leaning on the edge of his desk. 

“Will this time slot still be open next week?”

“Yeah, Wooyoung. It will.”

  


.:.:.:.

  


San was trying to figure out how he could keep his job.

He could live with everything that had happened in the single month that he had known Jung Wooyoung. He considered using his patient’s personal items to masturbate as nothing more than a hazard of the job. He accepted his own arousal during their sessions, certain that other sex therapists must feel these kinds of sensations on the daily, but his unique nature made it feel different and sinful to him. He was ashamed of his saliva, but per Wooyoung’s logic, the patient had asked for it as a means to achieve the outlined goal of these sessions - safe and fulfilling sexual release. 

With that logic, San was well equipped to twist almost anything.

As long as Wooyoung asked for it. 

As long as it wasn’t touching.

And maybe even then.

What Wooyoung didn’t realize was how much power he already had over San. Wooyoung was presented as an anomaly, a challenge, Seonghwa and countless other practitioners having helped Wooyoung reach his subliminal goal unknowingly. 

San was obsessed before they ever met.

.:.:.:.

The morning after their fourth session, San found Seonghwa in his office. The room was perfectly square, small enough for just the desk and two chairs. He didn’t practice here but in a separate room down the hall, on the opposite end of San’s. San heard a surprised “come in” when he knocked, fifteen minutes before the clinic officially opened. 

San let himself in and sat nonchalantly, crossing his legs. He looked Seonghwa head on and waited. He halted in the middle of reading someone’s file, observing San skeptically.

“Good morning, San. This is unusual. What brings you in before hours...or at all?”

“I’m here to talk about Jung Wooyoung,” San stated. Seonghwa closed the folder.

“You were right, Seonghwa-ssi. He’s a tough case.” 

Seonghwa scoffed at the admission. 

“You told me to come to you if I needed help, and here I am.” San waited, gauging his supervisor’s reaction. 

“Go on.”

“What is the goal of sex therapy, Seonghwa-ssi?”

“San, why are you-”

“What’s the goal, sir?”

Seonghwa sighed defeatedly. “The goal of sex therapy is to help people move past physical and emotional challenges to heal and find a safe, fulfilling sex life.”

San nodded. “And the process of finding that differs for every individual, correct?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed with danger. “What are you saying?”

“What is your dream for this office, Seonghwa-ssi?” 

Seonghwa halted.

“What kind of future do you see for this clinic and staff?”

Seonghwa huffed. “I want this place to become known for Grade-A care, great patient reviews, and high quality of life for our staff. I want other practitioners to look at this office and wish they worked here too. I want clients to come here when they’re too unique for those third rate caretakers. I want this place to be great. And uncompromised, San.”

San nodded again. “And how would it look to the rest of the field if we tamed Jung Wooyoung, the neighborhood ‘enigma’, as you so graciously referred to him?”

Seonghwa didn’t respond. Instead, he glared.

“What if he became a regular patient here? I’ve never met anyone like him and neither have you. Nor anyone else in the field. He pushes boundaries, yes,” Seonghwa’s mouth started to open, “but he’s not the devil incarnate. He finally opened up to me. He’s unique and his perspective is completely different from anything we’ve encountered before. Think about what we can learn from him. Think about how we can bring that information back to the field, and how other practitioners will be coming to us, to you, for advice. Look past the bad reputation that comes with his name and see the possibilities of keeping him on, even if the lines aren’t as transparent as we might like them to be. It’s become clear to me that the other therapists’ own actions got them fired, or made them give up. It wasn’t Wooyoung’s fault. So I’m asking for your permission.”

Seonghwa gaped incredulously. “You’re asking my permission for what - to get fired?”

San returned the look calmly. “I’m asking your permission to keep Jung Wooyoung. I, Doctor Choi San, who sells himself on his good boundaries, am asking your permission to give him what he needs to meet his goals during our sessions, whatever that may be, in exchange for the ‘recognition’ that your clinic will no doubt receive in return.”

Seonghwa, face contorted with understanding of exactly what San was proposing, sat dumbfounded. San watched his face flash from disappointment to anger, anger to curiosity, curiosity to consideration. 

“Do you trust him, San?”

“Yes, Seonghwa-ssi. I do.” 

Seonghwa debated.

“I’m not promoting you,” he growled.

“Your acceptance is promotion enough,” San smiled.

“I’m not happy.”

“You will be when people start calling to congratulate you,” San said, standing up to leave.

“Choi San, I swear, if this blows up, if anything goes wrong, your career is over.”

Without looking back, San says, “If anything goes wrong I’ll end it myself.”

He left Seonghwa to stare at the back of the door, grateful his intuition was right, grateful Seonghwa would turn a blind eye to one special case in exchange for superficial glory.

He left knowing that he would never exploit Wooyoung.

  


.:.:.:.

  


Wooyoung arrived much like he had the first time. He entered quietly, a small smile playing across his face, not looking at San until he sat on the couch. He was dressed simply, in curve-hugging black leggings and another oversized sweatshirt that came down to the middle of his thighs. San recognized him as being somewhat less confident, like before. A little more vulnerable. 

They looked at each other silently. 

San waited for Wooyoung to start the way he usually did. He waited until five full minutes of silence had passed, the tiny smile never leaving Wooyoung’s face, before he gave up.

He decided to take a chance.

“Wooyoung,” San called, “come here.”

The size of Wooyoung’s smile doubled as he rose to his feet. He came to stand on the opposite side of San’s desk, the rubber toes of his Converse kissing the hardwood.

Again, San waited. Again, Wooyoung said nothing. 

“Wooyoung,” he tried. The man just smiled back. “Wooyoung. What do you want?”

His eyelashes fanned down toward the desk. “I like it when you say my name, San.” 

San studied him. 

He noticed the way Wooyoung rubbed the cuff of his sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, seeking something tactile, something to ground him. He noticed the subtle shuffle as he shifted the weight between his feet. He noticed the red in his lips, bitten in a way they hadn’t been before. He noticed the nerves. The hesitation. The silent plea for encouragement.

San could do that. He was a therapist, after all. 

“Do you feel like you’re making progress toward your goal, Wooyoung?” 

Wooyoung looked up through his lashes, listening intently.

“Do you feel safe and fulfilled?”

Mute, he nodded. 

San nodded back. “And have you been enjoying our sessions?”

San held his breath.

So did Wooyoung.

He searched San’s face. “Yes....Have you?”

San paused. “Yes. I enjoy the time we spend together.”

Wooyoung exhaled, long and weighty.

“Is there anything you would like to change?”

His eyes filled with relief, spirit returning.

San tried again. “What do you want, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung met him head-on. “I want to be close to you.”

San choked on surprise. He waved Wooyoung around the side of the desk. 

Wooyoung smiled as he came around, hopping up on the desk and sliding to settle right in front of San. He rested his feet on either arm of San’s chair, playfully rolling him back and forth with his toes. 

Eyes flashing, he said, “San. Last week, we were in this exact same place, pressed up on your desk, my ass to your cock, you talking dirty to me.” San choked again. “Do you remember?” 

He hummed a yes in response. 

“Do it again.”

San blanched. “Wooyoung, I can’t just say things like that...that’s not how it works.”

“I know,” he smirked. “So do it like a therapist would. Just ask the right questions.”

He was pinned, staring at the challenge on Wooyoung’s face. 

“You can do it, Sannie. Just ask me what you think I might like to do to you.”

San’s temperature skyrocketed.

“Please, tell me more.” 

San remembered something.

Haltingly, he tried to thread a story. “So...I’ve been thinking about the imaginary scenarios you share with me, and I wondered if you ever thought about us going out on a date.” Wooyoung smiled. “But not just any date.” Wooyoung frowned. “Have you ever thought about me to taking you to a club?” 

Wooyoung leaned back, intrigued. “I might’ve thought about a club once or twice.” 

“What if… what if I took you to a place where we could get dressed up and go out,” he started. 

“Or undressed?” Wooyoung smirked, running a hand along his inner thigh. 

San's words slurred.

“Don’t stop your story now, Sannie,” Wooyoung sang in amusement.

He waited, feeling San's hesitation, rolling the chair in close. He cupped San’s jaw with both hands. 

Wooyoung acted like these small admissions were nothing, but to San, they were everything. Every moment, every smell and touch and word was new. Unexplored. Unrefined. 

Everywhere Wooyoung touched was flushed, simmering - his neck, his jaw, his ears. He breathed in the perfume at the crest of Wooyoung’s wrists, perfectly mottled with natural musk. He wanted to suck them into his mouth and trace the blue-green veins with the tip of his tongue, up and down and up.

Trying to distract himself, San continued. “Did you ever think about me taking you to... a BDSM club, Wooyoung?” He heard the breath catch in Wooyoung’s throat. His confidence increased. “We could go to a club, and you could get all dressed up in something sexy and lacy but not too revealing, because then all the other Doms would get confused thinking you’re available.” 

Wooyoung ate every word.

“We’d have a hard time keeping them away from you with that face, that smell, those damn thighs,” San shuddered, working himself up. “God, Wooyoung. You’re a symphony.” 

Wooyoung swallowed hard, leaning into San. 

“But I guess, if I got you a collar, everyone would know that you were off-limits. That you were with me,” San drawled, dipping in to flutter his fingers against Wooyoung’s cheek. They skimmed down, swirling under the edge of his jaw. Wooyoung tilted his head back in submission. 

San traced a thumb down his throat until it licked Wooyoung’s Adam's apple. He leaned in, breath fanning over the hand, the neck. Wooyoung swallowed hard and San moved to chase it, low vibrations emitting from deep in his chest.

“Would you let me collar you, Wooyoung?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

San stopped, nose to throat. “Really?” 

Wooyoung opened his eyes. They flashed with desire. “Yes, San. Show them I’m yours. Don’t let them touch me.”

San’s body tensed.

He was unsure. He was afraid. He had never understood those pre-confession jitters, butterflies in chests and ears turning red.

But he did now.

He reached toward the bottom drawer of his desk. 

“Well that’s good, Wooyoung, because I bought you one.” 

The air between them shattered.

Wooyoung gasped, hands fisting, appraising the collar as it came out of the drawer. 

San couldn't tell him, couldn't touch him, but he hoped this would be enough to show Wooyoung that he was safe here. Wanted.

Pupils blown, lips slack, Wooyoung reached out to take it from San’s hand. The collar was made of baby pink velvet and studded with gemstones, opening up with an o-ring at the front, just wide enough to slide in two fingers. 

He looked up, voice thick. “San.”

San had to recalculate. 

This is not the situation he imagined when he went out and visited one of Seoul’s back-alley sex shops. He spent a good hour looking through the copious quantity of sub collars, trying to decide if Wooyoung would prefer rough leather, or flirty lace, or soft, soft silk. Until he saw the pink velvet. 

It was what brought them together, after all. 

He had expected Wooyoung to seductively put it on, or maybe just outright reject him. 

He definitely hadn’t expected Wooyoung to get emotional, grasping the accessory like a lifeline. 

Wooyoung blinked out of his captured state, comprehending. 

Without a word, he slid off the desk and onto San’s lap, opening the collar and holding it out, silently asking him to help put it on. San assented, caressing his neck before securing it in place. He slid his fingers between the fabric and Wooyoung’s hot, hot skin just to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Just as an excuse. 

Wooyoung couldn’t wait. He nudged the tip of his nose into San’s, their melded breath tasting like fruit and coffee and want.

Slowly, Wooyoung moved in. He moved until the edge of his lips barely meet San’s. He swung his head left, then right, lips catching again and again. It felt like the heat on his skin after staying in the sun a little too long, like the pulsing warmth just before it reddens. Wooyoung pulled back and San thought he was done, maybe only comfortable with just this much. His eyes were tense, searching.

Then he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Softly, fully, sweetly. 

San felt the sun burn.

He was burning and he didn’t know what to do. He was tense, rigid, until Wooyoung started to open him up. He pressed in lightly, then out, sucking the swell so each kiss released a hushed popping noise. The sound was soft, so soft, rhythm comfortable and slow like droplets of rain on a roof, wrapped in silk and honey and wine. 

He burned, he burned.

He wondered what Wooyoung would think if he knew this was San’s first kiss. 

Wooyoung caught San’s lower lip between his teeth and pulled slowly, just enough to make San whine. Then he let go and it bounced back with a click and San whines louder. He liked it, he liked it.

He was intoxicated, immobile, wanting to step back and process, wanting to never think again.

Wooyoung bit him.

San liked that too.

Then, Wooyoung was sliding his thinly-veiled legs along San’s with just enough room to squeeze against the arms of the chair, plated metal pressing into Wooyoung’s thighs. He settled himself lightly, fingering the collar of San’s button-down shirt. San liked Wooyoung’s weight on top of him. He liked the feeling of Wooyoung’s calves and small feet folded up alongside his body, toes curling as he adjusted. He liked the feeling of Wooyoung’s plump bottom snuggled up just before his buzzing crotch. He liked the feeling of Wooyoung’s hands as they traveled, raking long lines across his chest, his shoulders, his neck. He liked knowing this man liked feeling him, too.

San held himself back, hands gripping the arms of the chair. Wooyoung smirked.

“Wooyoung, do-” San began at the exact moment Wooyoung leaned in to bite his neck, hard. San jumped, hands instinctively grabbing Wooyoung’s waist. He jumped again, stunned at his own reaction and stunned at the way Wooyoung’s body felt between his hands. He was solid yet soft, human but impossibly surreal. San’s fingers wrapped almost all the way around like he imagined they would, blocked by sweatshirt and movement, but resting on curves like their final destination. Like they never belonged anywhere else. He marveled at the sight. 

He doesn’t want to let go.

“San,” Wooyoung whispered, “can you help me take off my clothes?” He licked into San’s ear, all lips and gloss and making a mess. When San didn’t immediately move, Wooyoung captured the hands still flittering about his waist, to guide him. Together they gathered both the sweatshirt and tee, pulling them up and over Wooyoung’s head in one smooth motion. The second it pops over Wooyoung’s crown he’s reattaching himself to San’s neck, fingers massaging the hair at the back of his head. “Sannie,” Wooyoung purred, tonguing quick strokes across the subtle red marks forming at the base. He neatly undid one of San’s buttons, then another. “Can I mark you?” He craned his neck, trying to access more canvas. The metal of the chair dug into his thighs as he moved. San tried to throw the bundle of clothing onto his desk, but missed when Wooyoung nipped him tender. 

Then Wooyoung was wearing nothing but leggings, fabric stretching to highlight the expanse of his supple terrain. San noted the way his hip bones poked out over the top, V-ing down towards Wooyoung’s already cued package curled up atop San’s slacks. It’s surprising, San thought, that Wooyoung was this turned on already. Like him.

Wooyoung chased the secret places San’s collarbones retreated beneath his shirt. He freed another button.

He whined, “What about my pants?”

San isn’t sure he’s ready for this. He’s dreamt about it and jerked off to it and eaten a scrunchie out for it but he still isn’t sure.

“Can I move you?”

Wooyoung nodded, tongue polishing San’s throat in consent. San slipped his big hands between them, cupping the sensitive skin where thighs meet ass. His body throbbed at the contact, immortalizing the way the thick meat on Wooyoung’s thighs filled the gaps between his fingers. Wooyoung moaned into his shoulder as San squeezes once, twice, indulging a little. His fingers splayed out to cover more ground, tips pressed into the juicy swell as he hoisted him up and off of his lap. Wooyoung fell forward to wrap limbs around neck and grind pelvis against pelvis, their packages conversing through the layers.

San couldn’t breathe. The pressure went straight to both heads and made him dizzy. He wanted to throw Wooyoung on the desk and hump him instead, not waiting for nudity or appreciation or verbal consent. But he can’t, he won’t.

He placed Wooyoung on the desk quickly, attempting to slide away. Wooyoung didn’t want to let go. He dug his heels into the back of San’s hips to keep them flush. 

“Wooyoung, your pants?” 

Wooyoung thumbed under the hem of his leggings at lightening speed. He moved so fast he dropped back on his elbows, throwing his feet up in haste. San was stunned by the fervor. As soon as the garment was off Wooyoung was connecting them again, but San stepped back quickly. 

Impatient, Wooyoung huffed. “Stop making me wait, San.” 

San was having a hard time not staring at Wooyoung’s dick. Or touching it. Or putting it in his mouth. 

“You’re supposed to be appreciating me,” Wooyoung pouted. He hopped off the desk and drew close, the long line of his naked body molding against San. “Can I help you?” 

Wooyoung unbuttoned the rest of the shirt slowly, pinkie dipping down to drag across the hard-on threatening to escape San’s slacks in the process. He smirked when San heaved softly, eyes flitting up. He yanked San in by the lapels, pulling their chests together. The cold buckle on San’s belt etched into Wooyoung’s dick and he moaned, dipping his heels up and down to map the cool metal, pulling harder and rubbing faster until they lost their balance, butts hitting desks and arms anchoring bodies. 

Wooyoung opened the lapels and caught his breath, feasting on the sight of San - his neck now marbled with possession, his lightly defined pecs, the hard lines of his hips. 

He eyed San’s brown nipples, tongue moving behind his teeth. 

He coughed, hands snapping the shirt back together quickly to block out the distraction.

Wooyoung’s pupils dilated. “San,” he said, voice regaining its usual air of control, “it would help me get off if I could touch you too.”

San hesitated. 

He wanted.

He trusted. 

“Okay.”

Wooyoung reopened the shirt and pushed it just over San’s shoulders, thumbs finding a way to trace over nipples. San jerked.

They’re close enough to the same height that when Wooyoung hugged their chests together and ground down, their brown buds met, snapping off one another repeatedly. They both moaned in unison, San’s grip on the ledge tightening in restraint. Wooyoung’s penis caught on San’s belt buckle again and he yipped from the tug. He pushed San’s hips away and growled, looping a hand under the leather and yanking him forward again. San tripped from the push and pull. 

Wooyoung worked his belt, then his buttons, then his zipper. He drug the closure down slowly, hands floating around San’s pelvis before letting go, shrugging the slacks over San’s pert ass to stretch taught across his thighs. 

Wooyoung studied the boxer briefs quietly hugging San’s hips. He stretched his fingers so they could hug there instead. 

His fingers dipped under the hem, teasing tender skin. 

San choked on air.

“I want to see your appreciation, _raw_.”

He waited until San gives a coherent form of consent.

Then Wooyoung rolled down the fabric, San’s cock springing out of it’s nest like it has been waiting too long to fly. It was long and thick and curving, red and twitching on its own. Wooyoung greeted it with a kiss to the tip. 

San almost bit off his tongue. 

Wooyoung slipped the underwear down to the slacks, barely setting him free before grabbing his hips and pushing him down into the chair. He was instantly straddling San’s exposed pelvis, their naked cocks brushing. They moaned together. Wooyoung grabbed the back of the chair for support, freeing his legs and throwing them over either arm, pulling his ass, his thighs, his pink, pink package flush against San. He kissed him roughly before wrapping one hand around both their cocks and gripping, hard. 

San lost it.

He couldn't hear, he couldn't see. He didn’t know who he was or where they were or what was happening to his body but he knew pleasure and pain and exhaustion and relief.

He threw his head back as Wooyoung attacked his neck with his mouth, his cock with his hands.

San couldn't help it when his eyes closed in ecstasy.

Wooyoung scolded him, hands in his hair, pulling, making San yelp. “Don’t _ever_ take your eyes off me.”

San’s eyes went wide, watching Wooyoung fall under the haze of his own arousal. 

San felt his cock get even slipperier. He looked down to see Wooyoung was oozing out precum, rivulets of foggy white dripping onto San’s shaft, coating his balls. A drop furrowed its way between San’s cheeks, taunting, before dripping to the fabric of the chair. San wanted to feel but Wooyoung was instantly hissing, “Don’t touch.”

Wooyoung began to slide them up and down, together. 

San felt like he could get down on his hands and knees and beg for this.

“I’ll make you a deal, San. I’ll wear my collar whenever I’m here, and you wear my bruises all week long. I think that’s fair, right?” His free hand cupped the back of San’s neck. “I want you to think of me when you see them. I want you to think of me when they sting you after you forget that they’re there, when you wash too hard with your loofah. I want you to get so fucking horny whenever you see them or feel them or even think about them that you have to take care of yourself right then and there, only picturing me.” 

San moaned, so Wooyoung bit him. He bit San’s lips with tiny, tiny nips to the top, then the bottom, nibbling on the corners and the crest and the swell. His tongue followed to soothe, inserting and retreating, inviting San’s to dance. And then he sucked. He sucked San’s mouth against his own, sealing it, releasing it, capturing his lips his tongue his teeth over and over until San felt Wooyoung suck the breath right out of him, alongside his soul. 

And then he was moving, his hand stopped swirling and his lips roamed down. He shifted his hips so he could reach lower and San whined at the loss, his cock now cold and wet and lonely. But Wooyoung was on him again, lips suckling on collarbones and pecs and the pebbling of his nipples. He licked those pebbles and San got it, he finally got it. He got why people always wanted mouths on tits and tongues on teets. He got it. 

Wooyoung was turning him red and purple and blue and he got it. 

Wooyoung was returning, pressing up against him, and San wanted to embrace him and hold him and keep him and he got it.

San understood.

He said, “fuck.”

Wooyoung returned, wetter than ever. The space between their bodies was lightly coated in sweat and Wooyoung’s glistening natural lube. San realized he was producing some too. He didn't know he could.

Wooyoung massaged their members together, tittered with their balls, their sacs, their tight, tight pods. He gathered them up and dropped them, the changes in pressure sending shockwaves straight up San’s shaft. Wooyoung traced up their veins until he was gripping them just by their caps, fingertips caught on the hefty edges, massaging that place between foreskin and head. 

The rim of his cockhead was pounding, aching, blazing infernos.

San thought he might die. He groaned, low and throaty, trying so hard to keep his eyes open and watch.

Wooyoung preened. 

“You’re so dependent on me now Sannie. Dependent on my face, my voice, my smell. My scrunchie.” 

San moaned, a mess. 

Wooyoung smirked and ran a finger over San’s lips.

"But what you do isn't actually about me, or any patient, is it, _Doctor_. You do this work for you."

San froze, feeling exposed.

Wooyoung leaned in to whisper, understanding too much. “This has never been about my sexual healing, San. It’s always been about you. The day you decided to study sexology was the day you started your journey.”

Wooyoung kissed San once, chaste, before throwing their dice like he owned a casino. 

Their dicks were slick, so slick, sliding under Wooyoung’s hand like rockets as he altered the pressure and the twists and the length of the throw. It sounded like slurping and sinking, lewd and erotic, and San almost climaxed at that sound alone, but then all he could hear was buzzing and crackling as he went up in flames and he bit Wooyoung’s collar because he couldn’t bite him and then he came and came and Wooyoung came too and he never wanted to come back down.

San thought he blacked out, and maybe he did. Maybe Wooyoung did too. All he knew was that they were stuck together, ungodly amounts of cum in between them, grasping one another for support. 

Then they were quiet, just being. 

He finally got it. He finally understood.

Eventually Wooyoung leaned back, clambering out of the chair and grumbling as his legs wobbled, stressed from the pressure of the position and the force of their ejaculation. He stumbled as he tried to walk, having to brace himself on the desk a bit longer. His eyes raked over San, still stunned into his chair. 

“I didn’t get to tell you before, but you have a really nice body, San,” Wooyoung smiled, “and your dick is just as big and veiny as I imagined it to be.” He smirked, watching as San shifted in his seat, embarrassed. “Aww, don’t be shy Sannie, I like it.”

San’s cock regained some life at the praise. Both their eyes widened in shock and San cursed internally.

“Ooooh…” Wooyoung breathed, expression dangerous. “Was it that easy this whole time?”

San crossed his legs, trying to hide.

“Don’t be shy,” Wooyoung said, getting on his knees in front of the chair. He gently pried San’s thighs apart, setting his chin on the free space of cushion between them. He drug his fingers through the hardening mess coating San’s abs and brought them to San’s dick, pressing in lightly. Seeing him already half-hard, Wooyoung praised, “You really would be a good partner, San. We love a man that can go again and again, keeping us entertained for hours.” Wooyoung started combing the cooled cum back up San’s cock, resuscitating him. “Suddenly I think I need therapy two times a week.” 

San stifled a laugh.

Wooyoung smirked. “So, San. How are you getting away with this?”

Sam hummed. “I told my boss that it would make him look good if you stayed here.”

“Oh?” Wooyoung said, voice lilting in amusement, “It would look good to end my reign of terror?”

San caught the humor in Wooyoung’s eyes. “I wouldn’t call it that, but sure.” Wooyoung only smiled. “I also said you were teaching me new things which would make me better able to relate to future clients.”

“How so?”

“You’re helping me understand what people crave, what they desire. You’re helping me understand what it feels like to submit.”

Wooyoung paused. Then, he smiled devilishly. “Oh, I can definitely teach you how to be a sub, _daddy_.” 

He caressed San’s face. “I’m so proud of you for giving up your ego. No one else could do it for me. You’re so good, Sannie.” He ran his thumb over San’s lower lip. “You can still claim your good boundaries, just with everyone else.” He paused, considering. “Actually, do that. Don’t let them touch you,” he said, voice low.

“You crushed my good boundaries long ago.”

“But San,” Wooyoung lilted, “Just think of them like a three-day-old thong. Sure, it’s loose, but as long as it’s there you’re not fully exposed.” 

And then Wooyoung laughed.

And his eyes darkened.

“Do you really want to know what it’s like to be me?” 

San said nothing, focused on the sensation of Wooyoung teasing him into another orgasm, hands practiced and quick, enticing, luring, coaxing. San tensed, so close.

Wooyoung smirked.

Then San was fully hard and Wooyoung moved away, getting dressed and leaving his collar behind.

And he collected all the saliva in his mouth.

And he spat it on the desk. 

And he leaned down, to whisper in San’s ear.

“Enjoy _my_ spit in _your_ asshole, _Doctor_.”

And he walked out the door.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tell me how it is.  
>  _Don't be shy._  
>  Find me @wooingsan on Twitter.


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